The Tenderness of Treason
by ginOO7
Summary: [AU] Timov's efforts to curb her husband's erratic behavior after he takes the Centauri throne, both inside the palace and as the leader of an underground resistance bound to fight the dark policies sanctioned under his rule. Facing death for conspiring against the Crown, she sponsors the rise of a new claim to the throne while balancing her fidelity to Londo.
1. The King is Dead, Long Live the King

_"O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,_  
 _The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,_  
 _The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,_  
 _While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;  
_ _But O heart! heart! heart!  
_ _O the bleeding drops of red,  
_ _Where on the deck my Captain lies,  
_ _Fallen cold and dead."_  
\- Walt Whitman

 **2278, Centauri Prime**

Timov of Algul gently took the formal proclamation hand-delivered by the Centaurum's messenger. She broke the embossed seal and unfolded the letter which both declared Emperor Mollari II dead and anointed her Empress Dowager of the Centauri Republic. Knowing the date and time it would be delivered – poignantly chosen as the eve of a New Year - Timov had stood waiting for it at the altar of the lord of gods, Trias, where all Emperors were crowned before the Pantheon and the Republic.

After scanning the contents and finding nothing amiss, she folded the note again, and she gazed at Vir and Senna who patiently waited before her. She knew they would bear this burden together which would make it easier to endure. Timov remembered Londo's growled expletives every time anyone had deigned mention the inheritance of the crown – he had never wished this burden on anyone else, let alone individuals who remained among his most cherished. But her thoughts were interrupted by the solemn tolling of the palace's bells, mourning the deceased emperor. The announcement of the Emperor's death officially closed the previous year, darkened as it was by tragic and bloody events, but the New Year would be the tale of a new monarch facing challenges both new and old, and the bells turned cheerful as the hour of midnight passed, signaling the Centauri New Year.

The Centaurum had left the last act of the coronation to Empress Dowager Timov, in light of the circumstances. She glanced at the seal laying on the silver platter before her, and she gently grasped it, running a finger over its embossed gold. It had brought her so much heartache and perhaps some joy as well, but now it was a new generation's turn to bear its burden. She raised it slowly as she repeated the words spoken at the coronation of every Centauri Emperor since Emperor Tuscano, the first Centauri Emperor. Over her shoulder, the towering figure of Trias stretched his enormous hand over the altar, simulating the pantheon's blessing of the new emperor.

Timov took the necklace, the symbol of the Centauri, fashioned by mastersmiths in distant memory, and she raised it upward toward the gods who watched the proceedings from embellished frescoes covering every nook and cranny of the vaulted ceiling. Timov glanced momentarily at Vir and Senna, both now kneeling before her. Timov smiled and addressed the billions of Centauri viewers, "Are your Majesties willing to take the oaths?" she asked Vir and Senna.

"We are willing," they replied.

"Vir, you will be bound by the needs of the gods and the people and give only such guidance as will safeguard the Republic, knowing that the care, cultivation, and preservation of the gods and their chosen people is supreme?"

"I will be bound."

"Vir, arise," Timov commanded, and Vir arose, nervous tension wracking his body. He managed a smile at the petite woman in front of him before he stepped back two paces with a bow.

"Senna," Timov paused as the moment took hold of her, "You promise to lead our people with justice, execute mercy in your judgments, and safeguard the sanctity of the Centauri people and each of its gods?"

"This I promise to do," Senna bowed her head.

Timov allowed herself a faint smile as she looked fondly at the young woman, and she handed the seal to the principle priest of Trias. The priest finished his incantations and laid the seal around the young woman's neck. "Long live Empress Senna Refa," he bowed to her, "and Emperor-Consort, Vir Cotto."

Although the day was a triumph for the Centauri people, it had been a long road. Senna flashed a smile at the crowd and she slipped one hand into Timov's and another into Vir's. "I wish Londo was here," Senna whispered into Timov's ear through the echoing cheers.

"He is here in spirit," Timov whispered back. "He was so proud of the woman you have become. Now, it is a new day, and a new year. Go and lead the people, and prove everyone right who has believed in you through these long and dark years."

The Empress Senna Cotto nodded, the crowd's cheers overwhelming the trio. Each of three could not help but think of the long and bleak events that had led them to this moment as only the second – nay third – woman took the reins of the Centauri Republic.


	2. Time is the Teller of Truths

**Years before:  
2261, Centauri Prime**

It was not the muddy footprints embossing his presence on the polished floors that alerted Timov to her husband's unexpected return. It was the unmistakable racket from the garden that gave him away.

A headache already starting to form, Timov followed the globs of mud step-by-step from the front entrance of the family's Great House, through the long arched hallways, and right back outside again. There, Londo's booming voice, colored with irritation, was roundly complaining to a servant on a topic that Timov could not quite make out, but there was no doubt in her mind that nothing good would come of it.

"Londo, what are you thinking tracking this filth everywhere?" Timov addressed her husband's back.

Startled, Londo turned and shook a finger at her. "What on Centauri Prime are you talking about, woman?" His brow furrowed.

Without comment, Timov swept an open hand toward his muddy tracks.

Londo observed the mud silently for a moment before dismissing her comments with a flippant wave. "That is why we have servants!" Londo immediately refocused his complaining on Timov, "And why wasn't I met at the shuttle? I had to wave down a paid transit like a common vagabond!"

Timov crossed her arms archly. "You were supposed to arrive tomorrow." She nodded to Palco, dismissing him from his master's wrath.

The servant bowed low and departed quickly, almost bumping into his granduncle, Dunseny, on his way back into the mansion. Dunseny carried a carefully balanced tray of beverages, pausing before the House's lord and lady.

Timov watched Londo eye his filthy brivari on Dunseny's proffered serving tray, and Dunseny disappeared back into the folds of the house as soon as the glass was lifted by his master.

"I had Vir send my schedule ahead of my arrival," Londo said crossly, as the contents of his glass of brivari disappeared at an alarming pace.

"I did not receive it, and even if I had, you can't expect me to send a carriage on such short notice. Sometimes your demands - such as the innate telepathic ability to anticipate your whims - are utterly intolerable."

"I sent my schedule ahead!" Londo repeated, louder, his gestures becoming more animated.

Timov crossed her arms in irritation. "I don't merely twiddle my thumbs while you are away, you know? I'm quite busy, especially of late."

"Doing what?" Londo questioned Timov suspiciously.

"Since Mariel and Daggair departed, we've needed far less staff. So, I downsized the household."

"You have done what?" Londo's brow furrowed in displeasure. "And how is a noble house to survive if it looks empty? I do not care if I am not here more than a handful of days a month, and I do not care if the bedrooms are devoid of wives. You will not shutter up the Great House without my approval. What will the other nobles say, especially now that I am Prime Minister?"

"They will say that, for once, Lord Mollari is exercising good judgment."

Londo snorted.

"And I hired a new lady-in-waiting."

Londo's voice fell to a growl. "You have taken a new assistant? And my family's servants whom we have employed for centuries are gone?"

Timov inclined her head primly. "That is what I said. Not all of them, of course, but I have sorted the wheat from the chaff. The chaff have been let go."

Londo gaped, at a loss for words.

"They would sit idle all day. Is that what you wish to do with my family's money, Londo?"

"It is not about the money," Londo fumed. "I can hardly run a House if you board up the windows and let the servants go. I suppose next you will tell me you have sold all of the slaves?"

Timov ignored Londo's retort. House Mollari owned relatively few holdings in slaves prior to Londo's little tryst with the Centauri slave girl, Adira Tyree. Londo had ordered the sale of the remaining slaves within his direct possession shortly after Timov received the receipt for cancelling the Centauri woman's contract, and it wasn't hard to put two-and-two together, especially since Timov had several spies on Babylon 5 that kept her informed of her husband's whereabouts and activities. He, in turn, had spies both inside and outside of House Mollari, so it was little surprise that Londo and Timov hardly needed to speak to each other because their informants kept them abreast of all the news.

Timov motioned toward the interior of the hallway. "Try not to frighten my new lady-in-waiting, husband. Her name is Illyia." At his mock bow in acquiescence of her request, she watched him saunter into the house in pursuit of a refill of his glass.

Inside, Londo spied the newest addition to his house, and he allowed himself to study the woman for a moment before he approached her. As he meandered toward her, his brivari sloshed in his fluted glass, and his eyes lightened. "So you are Illyia?"

The woman did not drop her eyes like a trained servant. "I am," she replied with directness. "And who are you?"

"In fact," the flicker of a smile crossed Londo's face, "I am the lord of House Mollari." He seemed rather pleased with himself as his chest expanded. He was also the new Prime Minister, but the woman obviously didn't care for politics, or she would know that already.

"Oh," Illyia smiled mischievously. "Is that right? Lady Timov was speaking of you just this morning."

"All lies, I suspect," Londo chuckled. "Tell me," he leaned forward conspiratorially, "what did my wife say about me?"

Illyia said only, "With all due respect, Lord Mollari, I only remember that Lady Timov said you should rot in hell."

Londo was taken aback at her words, and for once, he was quite speechless. "My eh . . . monthly accounts arrived, then?"

Illyia inclined her head, "Yes, your lordship, I believe she was reviewing your monthly accounts at the time. Well, not so much the accounts themselves, but she was rather commenting on the state of the receipts that had arrived in the diplomatic pouch. And she questioned the usefulness of your staff at the Palace since she felt rather strongly that they should have segregated your work obligation accounts from your personal obligation accounts before sending them on to her."

Londo had recovered himself from his shock at Illyia's statement. At last, he tipped his glass toward the young woman. "I will tell you a secret about your new mistress, Illyia. She would be unhappy if she had nothing to be unhappy about. And she is not happy standing still - you would do well to remember this if you wish to stay in her employment for any period of time, for she expects the same from everyone around her." Londo grinned. "I simply remind her not everyone can accommodate such high standards."

Illyia shook her head at her employer's comments before bowing her head respectfully and vanishing in the long hallways of the Great House.

Londo paced the hallways in thought for several minutes before he found his way to his office. There he studied the stacks of files Timov had dutifully deposited on his desk, though Londo hardly flipped through them. If there was one person who was an absolute stickler about money - or anything else for that matter - it was Timov. Londo entrusted the entire running of his House and its holdings to her, and in truth, he would have been quite lost in the matter if she had not seen to the many details he neglected while living away from Centauri Prime on his diplomatic missions. It was one more thing in a rather long list of why it would have been most inconvenient to divorce her on the anniversary of his Ascension.

When Timov entered his office some time later, Londo noted her drawn expression. He suspected it was directed at his unannounced presence, and before thinking he said, "You look like someone died."

Timov allowed her signature look of displeasure to cross her face, and her voice hardened, "For once, you have aptly read the situation."

Londo blinked, realizing his error. "Eh," he stammered, "your new lady-in-waiting is spirited, eh?"

Timov rolled her eyes, guessing her husband's introduction had not gone to his liking. "I'm delighted she may be the first servant to keep you in line." Timov expected her husband to curl his hand into a frustrated fist at the tone of her chastisement, but instead his shoulders slumped, resigned, so she softened as well, "What _did_ you come home for? You've cancelled all your appointments at the palace this week."

"I received the news that your uncle passed away."

Timov narrowed her eyes, "Oh, I see, so you came home for the party - the funeral party?"

"No, I thought you…." Londo's voice trailed off before he appeared to give up whatever he was trying to say. "I did not come home for the funeral. I cannot stay – I need to return to Babylon 5 tomorrow. There's a trade pact the Regent wishes me to negotiate, and the timing is somewhat critical. Vir procured a last minute flight for me. I thought that . . . I know how close you were to your uncle, and . . . ." Londo's voice trailed off before he added, "If I were in your place, I would not want to be alone." Londo's furrowed his brow. "And I did not want you to be alone tonight after you had heard about what had happened."

Timov blinked in surprise. "And why do you think I am alone? I have the entire Great House to manage, let alone my family who will descend en masse tomorrow."

Londo took Timov's hand and gazed at her silently.

"Oh, all right." Timov sighed. After a moment, she softly added as she squeezed his hand, "Thank you."

Londo stood, demonstratively pulling two tickets from his waistcoat pocket. "I have tickets for box seats for Bartoli tonight. I know Bartoli is - _was_ \- your uncle's favorite tenor, and while I may disagree with your uncle over Bartoli's level of talent, I also know you enjoyed listening to him with your uncle. So, unless you prefer to take one of your servants to the Royal Theatre, you will allow me to accompany you. You cannot say no to the event, for Bartoli himself will make a tribute to your uncle after the intermission, and I have promised that you will be there to receive the ovation on his behalf."

"You arranged this?" Timov asked, her hand lingering on her chest in surprise, the tears far closer to the surface than she would have preferred.

Londo nodded with a smile. "As I said, I did not want you to be alone tonight."

Timov had come to rely on her husband's caddish behavior, and she appreciated his commitment to their usual marital acrimony. In that one thing, at least, he was perfectly reliable. And she valued reliability, dependability, and consistency above almost all else. For him to start acting like an adult - like he cared - well, Timov didn't trust him any further than she could throw him. And the gods knew, if she had been able, she likely would have thrown him from a window years before. And yet, on the rare occasion, he could still genuinely surprise her even after two decades of marriage, and on this night, she couldn't help but be charmed by his efforts. _There were times,_ Timov considered, _that Londo wasn't altogether intolerable. Short times, that was._

Before preparing for their evening out, Timov returned to the parlor and unwrapped the official decree of her uncle's last will and testament that had been sent to her. As she scanned it, she stared hard at the words as she saw what her uncle bequeathed to her. Londo wouldn't like it, not at all, and so, perhaps, it would be better kept from his knowledge for the time being.


	3. The Constrictor's Suffocating Squeeze

The time period after Z'ha'dum was destroyed was not the first time the Drakh had encountered the Centauri.

Several hundred years before, the Drakh's homeworld was dying, prompting a forced military expedition to colonize a new homeworld. The Seti System, they thought, was their best chance at survival, not only because of its abundant natural resources but because its sun was relatively far from Seti IV. The distance of the sun would not burn the tender pigment of Drakh skin which had adapted long ago to the darkness of a dying sun. Unfortunately for them, another colonial power had already declared the distant system its own, staking its claim through proclamation. Well after the Drakh had begun to settle in the Seti system, a roving military convoy of Centauri chanced upon the Drakh, sparking a military duel for the system.

For a short time, the Drakh dominated the battle, but only because the Centauri had stretched their forces across half the known universe, and the Centauri's appetite for colonial rule had grown greater than the strength of their numbers. The Drakh, confident in their ability to overwhelm the remaining Centauri, miscalculated when they decided to strike the Centauri on their underdefended homeworld. The Drakh sent a wing of their military to infiltrate Centauri Prime, hoping that the direct strike would result in the Centauri's withdrawal from the Seti system. But the destruction of the Drakh's forces began shortly after the vast Centauri fleets were recalled from nearby worlds. Ultimately, the Centauri's numbers and technological superiority overwhelmed the Drakh both at home and on Seti IV, but not before the Drakh's presence began to inspire Centauri nightmares that would continue for centuries. The nightmares were always made of what the Drakh weren't - the darkness into which they disappeared, the foreign, the unknown, the unfamiliar. The Drakh's image became shorthand for the unseen devil, used primarily to scare Centauri children.

The Centauri conquered other races for their natural resources, their wealth, their technology, and their manpower. But the Drakh had sought other worlds because they had little of these. Having nothing to offer and having made the mistake of attacking the Centauri homeworld, the Drakh were expendable, so the Centauri fell on them without mercy. Each Drakh that was captured was brutally killed, a symbol to other colonial provinces that military strikes or rebellions would be swiftly dealt with by the Centauri.

The Drakh did not forget their defeat at the hands of the Centauri. If anything, the Drakh were a patient people. They were smart, and they learned quickly from their defeat. They learned that their technology was inferior to advanced races such as the Centauri and the Minbari, and despite their growing intellectual power, the Drakh needed assistance and refined expertise to defeat potential enemies. And so, when they discovered the Shadows slowly building their forces, the Drakh embraced the Shadows' technology and their philosophy for improvement forced through the fire of chaos. In exchange for their loyalty, manpower, and allegiance, the Shadows offered them a new home. As the Drakh improved their military and technological abilities side-by-side with the Shadows, they waited, and they planned for their expansion and their revenge.

Loyalty and community had always been hallmarks of Drakh civilization. They were a collective, joined through telepathic abilities, bound through communal decisions. It was a symbol of their culture that they came to agreement through acclamation, and even the youngest voice was allowed to speak before the telepathic congress of the Drakh Entire. The Drakh were not a mechanically cold and calculating people, although outsiders usually perceived only these traits in the Drakh. The Drakh were, at heart, a communal people which respected loyalty and fidelity. Because of this, cold logic rarely dictated their communal decisions. Rather, a fire of passion and vengeance burned within their collective hearts, for the Drakh Entire remembered the burning ache of every soul being ripped from their consciousness, especially the Drakh killed centuries before without trial, detention, or consideration.

In addition, the Drakh had accepted the Shadows into their communal consciousness, and the Drakh Entire had felt the crushing loss of their fallen comrades during the recent Shadow War. When the Drakh learned that Ambassador Mollari had commanded that their brethren's grounded ships be destroyed on the island of Selini, the festering open wound of their previous defeat returned, compounding their anger and lust for vengeance.

To add insult to injury, the Drakh's mentors abandoned them on the brink of what they had hoped would be a triumphant return, leaving hand-in-hand with their former enemies, the Vorlons. Now facing the world alone again and without the assistance of their mentors, the Drakh turned their collective conscience to the future and the survival of their race, armed with precision technology. They would need a proxy, a catalyst to cause the chaos that would, according to the philosophy embraced from their Shadow mentors, ultimately improve the world. Their pawn would bear the brunt of the anger such chaos would cause. But the sweetest victory of all would be that the Centauri - who had cut the precious lives of so many Drakh from their collective web centuries prior and who had initiated the savage destruction of the Shadow fleet, causing their masters' untimely exit to a place beyond the rim - would become the very face of the Drakh's efforts.

It was one of their most powerful members, a Drakh recently ascending to the respected status of Elder, who had posed the plan to the Drakh Entire. His plan would allow the Drakh to gather their forces, scattered as they were after the fall of Z'ha'dum, under the relative cover of the aging Centauri Empire. The Centauri's natural thirst for colonial power could be harnessed for the Drakh's purposes - for no one would consider that a foreign hand would be controlling the Centauri as they rebuilt their crumbling colonial machine. Using the Centauri as a proxy would allow the Drakh to enjoy dual purposes: the Centauri would unwittingly be the catalysts to spread chaos among other worlds and using the Centauri as puppets would be fitting vengeance for the Centauri's role in the murder of the Drakh and the demise of the Shadows. Lastly, the Drakh could use their limited manpower to covertly cause chaos on several other worlds, always having the ability to covertly retreat to Centauri airspace.

Shiv'kala, the respected elder who had suggested the use of the Centauri as their military proxy, had focused considerable resources on studying his subjects. He quickly learned that the Centauri were a proud people: proud of their accomplishments, their history, and their culture. They would not easily accept a colonial power when, for so long, the Centauri had played that role ruling over other races. _No_ , Shiv'kala realized, _the Centauri would best be ruled from within._ Such a rule would need to be under the cover of darkness since the Centauri still overwhelmingly outnumbered the Drakh, and the Drakh had underdeveloped physical abilities, in relative contrast to their keen intellectual power. Further, the Drakh preferred the darkness, both figuratively and literally, preferring covert manipulation while living in the shadows where their eyes were accustomed to the absence of light.

Shiv'kala had personally taken up residence in the Centauri palace during the rule of Regent Virini, and Shiv'kala had personally grown and suckled a keeper from his own flesh to control Virini, and subsequently, Mollari. The Centauri had become somewhat of a pet project for Shiv'kala, personally bound to him through his keeper's telepathic link. Shiv'kala had an appropriate amount of respect for the Centauri's dedication to empire building, but he intuitively pinpointed the deep flaws caused by centauries of luxury, indulgence, and extravagance. If the Drakh had learned anything from their brief visit to Centauri Prime centuries before, it was that the Centauri people relied on communal and familial ties. Not only could their complicated allegiances be used to the Drakh's advantage, Shiv'kala had already perceived that segregating a Centauri of the noble classes from the ties of his House and his society could create a debilitating sense of powerlessness, even in the most powerful position in the country. The result Shiv'kala sought was an increasing reliance on the Drakh for information, company, and their subsequent control.

Although Shiv'kala had seen the strategy achieve the desired effects in Regent Virini, Shiv'kala had also learned that it required a skilled hand to handle a ward under the control of a keeper. During their time together, Shiv'kala had studied Virini closely, for he had to know when to apply pain and pressure, how high the subject's pain threshold extended, how long the keeper could inflict pain until the keeper was exhausted, and how much pain would cause unintended unconsciousness in the subject. However, the strain of his predicament ultimately caused the Regent to become mentally unstable, and instability was a dangerous threat to the Drakh Empire's interests on Centauri Prime. Therefore, Virini became expendable, and shortly after, his life was extinguished. In answering to the Drakh Entire for the Regent's downfall, Shiv'kala promised that he would handle his new charge with more patience and resolve than the last. To this end, he studied the journals of Cartagia's pain technicians with interest. Shiv'kala knew that training a new charge was draining - not only on the victim's physical and mental capacities but on Shiv'kala's time and energy and the victim's keeper as well.

The keeper was biologically intertwined with its host's nervous system, and as such, the keeper could sense the mood of its host. In response, the keeper could fill his host's sensory apparatus with untold pain when it sensed danger to the Drakh's interests, but the physical strain took its own toll on the keeper, for the keeper felt the same pain torrents as the host. And in this instance, the keeper was like a child to Shiv'kala, grown from his own flesh and blood, looking to him for protection and guidance, and obediently following his master's commands in relaying physical pain to the host victim.

Shiv'kala had studied Mollari with clinical precision before the Drakh had selected him as the next emperor. Shiv'kala had noted the Ambassador's penchant for foreign cultures, especially humans, his familial isolation, career failures, and his subsequent association with the Shadows that had brought him unearned political advancement. When Mollari had been selected as the new emperor and the Drakh's pawn for both his early compliance with and late betrayal of the Shadows, his psychological profile provided Shiv'kala with a great deal of insight into how to control the new emperor. For instance, Shiv'kala sensed greater mental durability in Mollari than in Virini, which indicated that his pain threshold was likely higher, but given what had happened with Virini, Shiv'kala intended to make use of both the carrot and the stick to ensure Centauri's continued compliance with the Drakh's wishes.

Although Shiv'kala did not relish training his new ward to comply with the Drakh's commands, for physical punishment risked all of the time, work, and cultivation he put into his subject, over the first few months of Mollari's reign, he used it liberally to instill fear and compliance in his subject. The punishments left Mollari's nerves shattered from the painful lessons he learned at Shiv'kala's bidding, leaving him unable to move or speak for extended periods of time, his body barely able to perform its basic functions of breathing and blood circulation after the keeper enforced Shiv'kala's punishments. Shiv'kala did not even have to order Mollari into seclusion when he was recovering from his attacks, for Mollari imposed it on himself, cognizant of the embarrassment being utterly out of control of his body would cause him. Mollari's crown rested on a perfect illusion, and he was not willing to sacrifice the illusion that he was in control. Shiv'kala could guess why Mollari complied in this respect - his file documented his lust for power - or perhaps he was fully aware that another would have to take his place if he lost the population's confidence - but whatever drove the aging emperor, he accepted the importance of the illusion.

From the aftermath of these episodes, Shiv'kala shrewdly learned, through the keeper's watchful eye, that it was not the physical pain that caused Mollari's most desperate moments. It was the crippling isolation Mollari experienced when his body gave out. Unable to move or even whisper, the keeper reported that his mental anguish increased not from physical pain but from his seclusion, so Shiv'kala exploited Mollari's weakness for social interaction as his punishment of choice. Unfortunately, over time, the enforced obedience took its toll on Mollari's mental state, as it had with Virini. Although Virini had secluded himself to the point of madness, Mollari's slow descent into depression and crippling loneliness was evident to Shiv'kala, but Shiv'kala did not mind Mollari's slide into depression. Mollari's useless bellowing and pointless objections to the Drakh plans became rarer. His compliance became easier as the Drakh demanded all Centauri resources be directed into rebuilding a vast imperial military. Mollari no long objected when the Drakh identified power-hungry Centauri with expansionist visions and placed them in trusted positions. And Londo merely closed his eyes in defeat when his countrymen objecting to these strategies were imprisoned and even slaughtered by the same Centauri he had allowed to be put in positions of power.

As added security, the Drakh had implanted a number of fusion bombs across Centauri Prime, and they had taken the time to crack the planet's defense grid, so they also had the ability to target Centauri Prime's civilian populations at will. This, of course, would be a last resort, since a number of Drakh had burrowed into tunnels deep in the planet's core, underneath the unsuspecting Centauri. But Mollari didn't know about the Drakh populations underneath Centauri Prime, and he might not have cared, for the first victims of the defense grid's guns would be his own people, well before the Drakh perished in any internal conflict between the two races.

In a matter of months, Shiv'kala was convinced that the breaking of Londo Mollari's spirit had been completed. Around that time, the Drakh Entire called Shiv'kala to a communal congress of the whole, and Shiv'kala prepared his mind for the telepathic link with the rest of the Drakh.

"How is our progress coming, Elder?" the Drakh Entire called to him.

With satisfaction, Shiv'kala thought back to one of his first conversations with Mollari in the palace after Mollari had accepted the keeper and become emperor.

"What exactly do you want from my people?" Mollari had demanded.

Shiv'kala peered at Londo with interest. "You will be the tip of the spear."

Perceiving that Shiv'kala intended the Centauri would lead any future battles on the Drakh's behalf, Londo's face hardened, anger evident in the clench of his jaw. "The tip of the spear breaks off and remains in the battlefield! The tip of the spear is reserved for those already condemned to the gallows in the only kindness that is left to them - an honorable death in support of their Republic."

"I am glad you understand so perfectly," Shiv'kala inclined his head.

Londo's chest heaved, "You are mad! You would kill every Centauri in defense of your cause? We are merely to be your shields?"

Shiv'kala's scaled features pulled tauter around his face. "Not necessarily." Shiv'kala knew that hope was important to the control of his subject. "It is not what is sacrificed, it is what remains that is important. That which remains is stronger, better, wiser. You taught us this when you slaughtered my people at Seti IV and here on Centauri Prime." Shiv'kala's features spread into what could only be perceived as a smile, "We will help you regain your past glory, and in doing so, you will come to learn that we are your allies. We will help you to grow your military capability. The more resources you put into the military conquests, the more likely you will regain your empire and ultimately ensure the survival of your own people. Is that not what you want? And now it is coming true. Our peoples destinies are intertwined now. Sooner or later, you will see that as I do."

Then, Shiv'kala had seen only rebellion in Mollari's eyes. But now, a mere few months later, Shiv'kala could already see the uneasiness, the unsureness, and the hint of defeat that had crept in to Mollari's eyes.

Shiv'kala's thoughts returned to the Drakh Entire's question, and he addressed the communal congress without words but with a sense of warmth and happiness: their people had found a home and a destiny. They would realize the Shadow's philosophy, and their souls of their ancestors killed so long ago would be avenged.


	4. Chaos

Dunseny, the Emperor's long-serving personal attendant who had moved from the Great House to the palace at the Emperor's request, delivered the Great House's monthly ledgers, bound under House Mollari's seal. Dunseny laid the ledgers on the Emperor's desk. He frowned at the lack of his mistress's notes, which had become shorter and shorter over the past several months until, finally, none had been attached at all.

Since arriving at the palace, Dunseny had observed that the Emperor had been avoiding the matters of his own House. Before he became Emperor, Lord Mollari had kept a semi-regular monthly routine of visiting his House to check in on its affairs. To the servants' great relief, the overall tension in the Great House had diminished when Lady Daggair and Lady Mariel left, and after their departure, Dunseny and the other servants noted a change in the tension underlying Lord Mollari and Lady Timov's relationship. There was still tension, without doubt, but between the unruliness of Lord Mollari's unscheduled monthly visits, his tepid complaining, and their habit of incessant bickering, both the Lord and Lady of the House seemed to take some sort of pleasure in the periodic presence of the other. Whether this pleasure was caused purely by the joy of antagonizing of the other or by genuine buried affection was a constant source of gossip among the House's servants. In any event, the divorce of Lord Mollari's other wives had taken the embittered edge off of their relationship, even if it had not cured the situation. However, their détente in relations had cooled again when Lord Mollari had ascended to the position of Emperor, notably due to the absence of any communication at all by His Majesty.

Over the past few months, Dunseny delivered the ledgers, now apparently the only form of communication between the Emperor and his wife. In the mornings when Dunseny returned to His Majesty's office to tidy up his desk, Dunseny would retrieve the ledgers which had broken seals as if the Emperor had, in fact, riffled through them at length. Dunseny noted that they were often open to the pages detailing the Empress's personal accounts, and, curious, Dunseny had glanced at the open pages. The Empress had detailed several notable expenditures. It appeared that she was sending a great deal of money to the Legionnaire's Academy, the most notable military academy on Centauri Prime. Its graduating legionnaires were reputed for their fighting skills and their academic prowess, and they were almost as loyal to each other as a formal noble House. But _why_ she might do so was beyond the old man's imagination. Dunseny folded the pages closed again, and retrieved the ledger for filing, clearing His Majesty's desk for the inevitable onslaught of plans, papers, and proposals that the Emperor was brought for his review on a daily basis.

Dunseny had keenly noted that His Majesty was looking ever wearier, his stride growing heavier with each passing day, and exhaustion hung like a weight over his shoulders. The ministers called on the Emperor at all times of the day and night, and the Emperor received them with annoyance written across his face, but he did not send them away unseen.

Dunseny had heard that Turhan's palace consisting of over 7,000 courtiers and servants had been run with clockwork precision, but Cartagia's reign had eviscerated most of the proficient palace staff. The Regent fared little better than his predecessor, for once ineptness crept into a body, its sickness slowly took hold. Notably, the last Master of the Household had come to a swift and bloody end under Cartagia's knife, and he had never been replaced, much like the Emperor's telepaths, who had also perished under Cartagia. Likewise, the Lord Master of the Door, the executive guardian of the Emperor's harem, a coveted position usually entrusted only to a eunuch, had not been named in decades. The palace, which under more lavish Emperors had boasted upwards of 15,000 servants had dwindled to paltry a skeleton staff of just over 3,000 servants and courtiers. In light of the crumbling of the palace's traditional positions, the household had become far less orderly. Where once trusted advisors and courtiers had provided the Emperor with executive advice, now the ministers picked up the slack, using it as a convenient opportunity to consolidate their own power and plot their own ascension to the throne.

Dunseny, himself, had been named Esquire of the Body, a notable and influential position, indeed arguably the most influential position for a servant in the royal household, but even Dunseny would not approach the Emperor about the countless positions that had gone vacant since Cartagia's reign or the growing problems within the palace itself. Dunseny sighed, wishing he were back at House Mollari, his home for eight decades. The changes the Empress had made over the last few years had turned the House into a well-oiled machine, and each cog knew both its place and its importance in the overall machine. He wondered if his young grand-nephew, Palco, was aware of his luck in dodging the palace's chaos.

* * *

Palco's figure traced a breathless path as he ran through the Great House until he found his mistress. "Your Majesty," he said as he thrust a note into her hand with trembling fingers.

Reading it, Timov's face changed abruptly. "Get the carriage," she commanded Palco as she gathered the folds of her dress.

"Eh, Your Majesty…" one of her newly appointed soldiers stepped to her side, "we will need an hour to get the security arranged. If you will allow me to…."

"Get out of my way," Timov snapped. "You can catch up to us when you've made your arrangements. In the meantime, you may find me in the Capital City." She waved to Illyia who joined her stride. "You will contact me directly if the palace rings here." Illyia nodded her understanding just as Timov reached the door of the Great House.

The soldier's jaw hung loosely for a moment before he waved his fellow soldiers to quickly follow the retreating figure of the Empress.

By the time she reached the nearby landing pad, House Mollari's private carriage was ready to depart. Less than ten minutes later, the Empress was bound for the Capital City, and for once, she did not gaze at the countryside or count the ways in which the government had failed to improve the infrastructure in the last year. Instead, she sat primly, her face drawn, her hands clasped. Only her whitened knuckles gave away her thoughts as the minutes passed.

* * *

Londo's hands curled over the edge of the small table he was sitting on. He frowned at the chaos unfolding in the overcrowded room in front of him, and he waved one of his guards over. "You detained her?" he asked solemnly.

"She is downstairs, Your Majesty. Would you like me to bring her up?"

"No," Londo shook his head with weariness. "Is she hurt?"

"A few bruises, Your Majesty. Nothing serious."

Londo sighed, "All right, take her to the palace. I will have a word with her there."

The soldier bowed his head and retreated from the small room buzzing with activity, slipping his way past the crowd as he made his way to the small transport tube. On his way there, he snapped his heels to attention as the diminutive figure of the Empress flew off the transport tube in front of him.

Timov passed the flock of Londo's personal guards, making her way past a throng of people, and as she entered the room, the crowd peeled away to allow her a path. She rushed to her husband's side. "Gods, I thought you were dead!"

"I didn't know you cared," he said aloofly, giving her a strange look.

Timov took an abrupt step back as she straightened her shoulders, "Of course I care."

Londo stared at her silently for a moment before responding. "It is just a scratch. You see?" Londo ripped the small bandage from the back of his head, bringing away the small scab that had already formed.

"Londo!" Timov exclaimed, seeing the blood dripping from his bandage. She put a hand on his shoulder, trying to peer around his head on her tippy-toes as she motioned to the doctor who was inspecting the wound. But as she leaned around the table, she saw that it was, indeed, only a scratch. She took a moment to calm her hearts before she addressed him again. "They said there had been an attempt on your life."

Londo grunted, "'Attempt' is a rather strong word for what, in fact, occurred."

Timov glanced at the chaos in the room. "The news is reporting that it was serious."

Londo threw up his hands, "All lies, as you can see. But it was a plot worthy of a Refa."

"A _Refa_? What do you mean?" Timov queried her husband. "Antono is dead, and I understand his wives died in the bombings as well."

"His daughter is not dead. She got her hands on a replica PPG. I suspect it was intended to lure my soldiers into killing her. It would have caused quite the controversy."

Timov was taken aback. "Senna Refa? Senna Refa tried to shoot you with a PPG?" Timov couldn't quite believe her ears. "She can't be older than 14 now."

"No, she did not try to shoot anyone." Londo shook his head, upsetting the doctor's attempts to replace the bandage. "She tried to get my soldiers to shoot her."

"Whatever happened, the news gave me quite a scare,' Timov blinked back unexpected tears. "It wasn't even the palace who informed me."

Londo looked at her quizzically for a moment.

Timov continued, "Considering that you and her father were once quite good friends, she might have gotten wind of those rampant rumors that you were involved in plotting his murder and causing the downfall of House Refa. Perhaps she felt you smeared her family's honor." Timov carefully observed Londo's response, but his face gave nothing away as to the veracity of the rumors.

Seeing Londo sway slightly as he listened to her, Timov glanced over Londo's head to the physician behind him. The physician's mouth was moving back and forth but nothing was coming out. "Oh for the love of the gods," she turned to Londo's guards. "Will you clear this room already? I can barely hear myself think." She turned back to Londo, "This entourage is absurd. Is this how you travel everywhere now? Including the residential districts?"

Londo glanced at the guards, and he nodded, dismissing everyone from the room.

As the door closed behind the last of them, Timov sighed, "I didn't mean that the physician should leave."

"I needed the quiet anyway," Londo replied. "I have a raging headache, and the physician is trying to send me to the closest clinic to ensure I don't have a concussion."

"Well," Timov straightened Londo's imperial sash. "That sounds almost sensible."

"I do not want a medical scan," Londo said with an intensity and forcefulness he rarely displayed in casual conversation. "Anyway," his voice softened. "I feel fine." He stood up for a moment before he started to sway again. "I'm just a bit…" he put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself, "dizzy." He took a few deep breaths before he reconsidered his wife's presence, "You are looking well."

"Your eyesight must be getting worse," she replied as she helped him sit back down.

"Perhaps," he managed a half smile. "In any event, I have been expecting you. Not here, specifically, nor today, but I thought you might eventually make your way to the palace."

"Oh really?" Timov pursed her lips as she still hung on his hand. "Did you forget to send my invitation to your coronation?"

Chagrin crept into Londo's eyes. "The courier must have gotten lost on his way to you."

Timov sniffed her disapproval, "He must have gotten very lost, since you invited no one at all."

"As I explained in my speech to the people, a festive occasion was not appropriate considering the circumstances."

Shrugging off his explanation, Timov replied, "I am not here to debate your coronation choices."

"Ah, so you _are_ aware I am Emperor, then?"

"No thanks to you, _husband_. Would you like to know how I found out? An army of armed men appeared on my doorstep claiming to be my new security contingent."

Londo snorted, "Maybe I should trade mine for yours as you seem to be in one piece."

Ignoring his comment, Timov continued, "There's a camp of people at the doorstep of the Great House. You wouldn't believe what I've had to put up with lately."

Londo's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Tell me."

"I've been approached by several - _several_ , Londo - families wondering if His Majesty was yet looking for vessels."

"Vessels?" Londo seemed perplexed, "What sort of vessels?"

"Vessels," Timov said pointedly, "to carry your heirs."

At that, Londo laughed heartily. "You?" he chuckled, "They are approaching _you_ with wedding proposals for their daughters?"

"What did you expect would happen?" Timov said, with less humor than usual. "Your years are advancing, and everyone is quite displeased at the non sequitur state of the monarchy."

"Tell me," Londo pulled Timov closer, though they were the only people in the room. "Did you get a good look at any of them?" he whispered in her ear.

"No, I did not." Timov said coldly, knowing he was prepared for a stinging hand, and she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of doing exactly what he expected. "Now let me go so I can call the physician back in, since I see you have lost your mind if you think I will entertain wedding proposals on your behalf."

"Timov," Londo's voice hardened, stopping her, "I have some things to talk to you about. We will discuss them back at the palace when I have a free moment, after I take care of all of this," he gestured to the waiting throng.

Timov bit her lip. "I think I know what you have to say already."

"Yes," Londo said under his breath, "I'll bet you do."


	5. The Promise

Sending a nod toward the nearest attendant, Londo made it clear he was ready to leave the room to which he had been rushed after the incident with Senna Refa. As they made ready to leave for the motorcade waiting outside, Londo stood up. To his obvious surprise, Timov took her husband's arm.

"What are you doing?" he asked, perplexed at her gesture.

But even as he asked her, he swayed from dizziness, and Timov steadied him unobserved by bracing his arm with hers. "Hush," she said quietly to him. She leaned into his ear, "You are the Emperor now, and it would inspire little confidence among the people to see you topple over."

Londo grunted in response before asking her, "Since when did you care about my image?"

"I have always cared about your image. You would know that if you'd ever take my advice."

"Your advice," Londo protested mildly, "consists solely of telling me to stop enjoying whatever I am doing. Sometimes I think you forget that the art of enjoyment was commanded by the gods to be cultivated as a duty."

"You don't believe in the gods," Timov said matter-of-factly.

"Ah," Londo smiled, "but nevertheless, in that respect, I am their humble servant."

Timov rolled her eyes as they stepped into the sunlight, the imperial guards pressing the crowd back. As they exited the building, Londo drew back his shoulders as he straightened his imperial clothing. But instead of making his way to the waiting motorcade, Londo put a hand on the closest guard restraining the crowd, breaking the guards' human security chain. Unconcerned about the crowd, Londo stepped past the guard to chat with the Centauri surrounding them, and Timov again steadied him as he moved through the crowd.

Members of the waiting throng peppered Londo with questions about the incident, including his condition to which he merely patted his chest amicably. "Do I not look all right?" he beamed charismatically and gestured expansively. "I have survived three assassination attempts, two poisonings, a station with four-times-a-curse upon it, and a few years ago, I exchanged one of my hearts for an indestructible one. So, there you are. If not invincible, I am very close it, eh?"

Timov suppressed a shake of the head at her husband's antics.

"If anyone wishes to suggest otherwise," Londo continued, shaking a good-natured finger at the crowd, "you know where to find me, yes?"

Until the moment that they ducked into the coach, Londo continued to rebuff each suggestion that anything remarkable had happened. But Timov, alone, could see the exhaustion evident as he collapsed into their private coach, the darkened windows protecting them from the public's gaze at last.

* * *

Plancho, a cabinet aide, had melted into the background of the palace's long corridors as he was trained to do, but he kept the Emperor's speed, trailing a few paces behind him, as Plancho awaited his turn at the Emperor's elbow. Plancho was anxious to resolve the tasks he had been entrusted with, but his face had the sickly pallor of someone entrusted with delicate subjects that could easy solicit the Emperor's wrath at the wrong word.

Ahead of Plancho, Londo was instructing Dunseny to take the Empress to her quarters within the Royal Suite. There, rooms tiered off the Emperor's spacious private suite of rooms. The largest and grandest of the suites adjacent to the Emperor's Suite was reserved for the Emperor's first wife, the second largest for his second wife, and so on. Each tiered suite diminished in size relative to the wife's status until the comparatively modest size of independent bedchambers reserved for concubines – but since Londo had only one wife at present, the vast majority of the Royal Suite's adjacent rooms remained both empty and unused.

"Urza's family has been asking after you," Timov turned to address her husband over her shoulder before departing. "Urza's young nephew, specifically."

"We will speak of it later," Londo said dismissively as he gestured to Dunseny to depart with Timov.

As Dunseny accompanied Timov to her quarters, Plancho stepped up to the Emperor's side. "Majesty, there are some matters of importance for your attention. The cabinet meeting is tomorrow, and the ministers are in disagreement as to who should lead the meeting. It is causing . . . ehm . . . consternation."

Londo turned from the sight of his departing wife to gaze at the cabinet aide. "They are fighting, are they?" Londo chuckled. "Have they broken anything?"

The aide licked his lips with nervousness. "A few crystal bottles have been lost, Your Majesty. Launched at a 12th century painting which may require some restoration, I fear."

Londo rubbed his tired face. "Let's see, then." If uninclined to conduct the proceedings himself, the Emperor historically delegated the task of chairing the meetings to the Prime Minister, but the position of the Prime Minister had remained vacant since Londo had ascended to Emperor. In that event, the senior minister was usually designated as the Defense Minister. And the portly, opinionated Minister Wesa had expressed his vehement opinion that he should chair the meetings, but Londo had yet to approve the request, and several other ministers had expressed their dissatisfaction at the traditional ranking scheme of ministers within the Centauri government. "Minister Wesa has demanded the honor?" Londo asked.

"Indeed. He has . . . expressed his preference for the position," the aide replied tactfully.

"I'll bet he has. Has he started taking measurements for the Royal Suite as well?" Londo asked.

The aide giggled nervously. "You could always undertake the chair yourself," he offered helpfully.

"Plancho, is it?" Londo laid a genial hand on the man's shoulder. "I see you have not attended many of these meetings. We will be lucky if there is not a brawl over production figures on spoo this quarter. In any event, I have no wish to undertake the dull and menial task of chairing the cabinet meetings myself. It is my only chance to catch up on the news while the ministers are busy bickering."

"Then uhm," the aide gulped, "You will approve Minister Wesa's request to chair the meeting?"

A slow smile curled one corner of the Emperor's mouth as he watched the disappearing trail of Timov's dress in the distance. "The meetings have not always been chaired by ministers, yes?"

"Ah," the aide nodded quickly, "only in the past century has this become the established practice. It is, of course, your prerogative to appoint anyone you like. Previously, emperors have also appointed their personal secretaries and other officials to run the meetings."

"Very good," Londo patted the aide affably. "The Empress will chair the meeting." He laughed as amusement spread across his features. "It will be the cabinet's penance for bickering over such a trivial thing."

Plancho started to laugh as well. "Your sense of humor is unparalleled, Your Majesty."

"You will do it, Plancho," Londo nodded at him.

"But Your Majesty," the aide's laughter faded, and he looked anything but amused. "You're not…not serious? While I'm sure Her Majesty is endowed with a great many attributes, it would be unwise to…."

Londo stared hard at the aide for a moment, and Plancho wondered whether the Emperor was aware that he was on the personal payroll of Minister Wesa as well as the cabinet payroll.

"Tell me this, Plancho," the Emperor asked, a rigid note detectable in his tone. "Did I ask your opinion on my choice?"

"Uh . . . uh," the aide struggled. "No, Majesty, but…."

"Londo's eyes hardened. "Then do it. It was not a request."

The aide's eyes widened in shock and surprise. "Eh," Plancho was not sure if he should push his luck by asking anything further. "And there is the matter of your representative should you ever become incapacitated. We need your royal order on it as soon as Your Majesty decides."

"Cartagia appointed his pet __thrasio__ , yes?"

Plancho stifled a grimace. "Yes, Majesty."

The Emperor appeared distracted. "I will think on it."

"Very good, Majesty," Plancho bowed and quickly retreated.

* * *

Senna Refa waited quietly in the Emperor's executive office, flanked by imperial guards who had not taken their eyes off her since she had raised the reproduction of a PPG and aimed it at the Emperor's hearts as he toured one of the Capitol City's residential neighborhoods. The area had been decimated by the recent destruction fraught after Regent Virini had ordered the Defense Grid to be deactivated, and Londo Mollari, the Prime Minister at the time, had done nothing to prevent palpable to prevent it.

Senna had hoped her martyrdom would bring disgrace on the Emperor, the man reputed to be responsible for her father's death, and the man who, as Prime Minister, had not protected her mothers from the vicious onslaught of heavy fire levied at Centauri Prime, including in the Capital City, a barrage that had left millions dead and millions more homeless, including the orphaned Senna Refa.

She watched the Emperor stride into the room, carefully removing the Centauri seal and the sash of his office before he turned to face her. Although it seemed as though he were about to say something, he hesitated, snapping for a drink from a servant, who deposited a brivari in his hand almost as soon as he requested it.

At last, he turned back to her. "Senna, I remember meeting you for the first time when you were only four."

Ignoring Londo's niceties, Senna's eyes bore into Londo, and without hesitation, she asked, "Did you kill my father?" She looked at Londo with an unwavering stare.

Londo met her gaze, and after a moment, he dismissed the guards with a nod, but the closest guard began to protest. "But Your Majesty, she tried to…."

"Go," Londo commanded them. His tone did not allow any further questioning, and the guards were wise enough to heed his order.

Londo sighed, letting the silence stretch on for some time before he answered. "Have you ever made a mistake, Senna?" he asked.

Senna regarded him warily before answering, "I suspect there are few that could answer that with any truthful answer except yes." she answered coldly.

"So have I," Londo confided. "More than I care to count." Londo sat down in his plush, ornamented desk chair and opened a desk drawer at his side. "if there was a meritorious service award for mistakes, I would have earned it long ago. Sadly, there is no such award. And," he pulled a dagger decorated with precious gems from his drawer and placed it in front of him, "you do not become Emperor because you are a __nice__ person. One never wins a seat of power from being __nice__."

Londo examined the gilded hilt of the dagger encrusted with jewels. The edge, however, had been sharpened to a crisp blade. At last, he gestured to the dagger. "Senna, I will give you this dagger, and you may do with it what you will, without repercussions. I will absolve you of any crime you commit with it."

Senna glanced suspiciously from Londo to the dagger and back again. Then she waited, but he said nothing further, and after a long stretch of silence, she began to reach for it, but her movement was interrupted at last by Londo's voice, "But there is a condition."

"What condition?" Senna asked under a veil of contempt and anger.

Londo tapped his desk for a moment before he responded. "Your father and I were allies for many years, but we were on a collision course. We wanted much of the same things. He had his methods, and I had mine. It is ironic, is it not, that if your father had lived, he would likely be sitting in my place, instead of me."

Senna watched a wistful, almost sorrowful look pass over the Emperor's face.

"Truthfully," the Emperor grunted in amusement to himself, "I think perhaps he deserved it more than I." Londo sighed. "You asked if I murdered your father. We both know the answer to that question. But if you wish to know the truth," seeing the anger and outrage on Senna's face, Londo put up a hand to stop her, "I was misled into believing your father had been responsible for killing someone very close to me."

The Emperor's eyes grew distant for a moment, and Senna thought she saw him blink back emotion. But in a moment, the flash of emotion was gone again.

"I was played a fool. I cannot say what would have happened if my anger had not been used against me, but as I said, your father and I were already on a collision course." Londo leaned back in his chair, gazing at Senna with a contemplative look on his face. "The worse crime was not to your father, Senna, but to you. The rivalry between our Houses took its toll, not only in the death of your father, but in the disgrace and disbanding of your house by Cartagia."

Londo let silence fall over the room, and Senna willed herself not to let any tears of anger and frustration fall in listening to the Emperor's admission.

"If I had acted honorably and taken your father's life in a duel, you would be under my care, now, as would the rest of your House. Instead, I sit as Emperor and you are penniless, homeless, without a family. For __that__ , I am sorry."

Senna blinked in surprise. She had expected many things, including her head upon a pike, but an apology had not been one – certainly not an apology to her. She took careful note, however, that Londo did not apologize for what he had done to her father.

Londo stared at his desk, "You had reason, today, to take out your anger on me. But your death would be a blink in popular opinion, or it might have backfired, and I might even have __gained__ support. In any event, I cannot conjure your father from the dead." He fingered the dagger again. "But I can restore the other things that would have been yours if I had acted honorably in the first place."

Senna bit her lip as she realized what Londo was saying. "You wish to become my protector?" she asked with suspicion and incredulity in her voice.

"You are left without prospects to finish your education or to find a husband. I will restore these things to you. This is my condition – until the day of your Ascension – you will live under my protection as a member of my House, under my terms and my rules. You will go back to school under the tutors that I arrange. And on your Ascension Day, in a few years, I will bequeath this dagger to you with the promise that I have made. You may choose on that day what you wish to do with the dagger, and whether you wish to exercise its power. If your thirst for vengeance is deep enough, a few years is not a long time to wait, yes?"

Senna stared at the dagger again. "Why would you do this?" she whispered.

"Because," Londo nodded to her, "Centauri Prime needs more people like you – people who are willing to sacrifice themselves, as you tried to do today for something you felt strongly about. So, it would be a shame if you were to starve on the streets when, perhaps, there are much greater things you may do with your passion."

Senna swallowed hard, seeing the choices laid out before her. But she did not merely accept what Londo had laid at her feet. "Then restore House Refa, and I will accept your terms."

The Emperor watched Senna intently, and she wondered if he could read the conviction in her young eyes. 'I will order the seal of House Refa restored," Londo acquiesced at last, "but it will be at the time and place of my choosing."

Senna considered this for a moment before she decided. "I accept your terms," she stood, and in deference to their new pact, Senna finally bowed her head.

Within the hour, the Emperor had instructed Dunseny to find accommodations within the palace for Senna in an area adjacent to the Royal Suite reserved for imperial family and guests of the Emperor. As Dunseny led her, penniless and without belongings, along the imperial palace's long corridors, she contemplated the odd turn of the day's events that had begun with her prayer to the gods to grant her vengeance and had ended with her finding a new home under the protection and guidance of the man who had been responsible for her father's death, and she considered the promise he had made, and the dagger she would own in a few short years.


	6. The Constant Hum of Bees

Timov sat primly on the edge of the oversized bed in her new quarters, her knuckles turning white from the tension in her tightly wrung hands. She stared at the door on the far side of her quarters as she contemplated her situation.

Timov had sent for some personal items from the Great House, and she had unpacked her things in her quarters, but she had a nagging feeling she wouldn't be there for long. Her relationship with Londo had always been a challenge, and realistically, they hadn't lived together in the same residence for many years now. Londo's periodic visits had suited them both well enough. Timov had been free to run the Great House as she saw fit, and he was free to engage in whatever extracurricular activities he wished to pursue without her constant judgment.

Since Timov had arrived at the palace, she was unimpressed by its disorderliness, but she was most unimpressed by Londo's behavior. It had been four days since she had arrived, and again, Londo had not sent for her. She had waited patiently, but now her patience had expired.

After 25 years of marriage, she knew her husband's behavior quite well, and while they did not see communicate frequently, he could be counted on to disturb her orderly schedule on a periodic if not regular basis. And yet, when he had become Emperor, he had practically fallen into a void. The most she had seen of him was on the official news relays.

His utter disregard for their regular customs grated on Timov's nerves, and after her brief exchange with him following the incident with young Senna Refa, he had virtually disappeared again. He had not sent for her for dinner or for her attendance at any of the palace's usual banquets. He had not exercised his rather aggravating habit of bursting in on her at all hours of the day and night. He had not even sent a servant with a message to tell her that he had been delayed.

Timov stood, smoothing her dress. Very deliberately, she approached the door between their chambers, pausing for some time before putting her hand upon the access pad. She was positive what the outcome of this confrontation would be, and the idea inspired a touch of melancholy in her. Despite their differences, Londo had become like an old pair of shoes – annoyingly squeaky but comfortable and dependable in his own sort of way. And yet, now he had abandoned even their intermittent rituals, and Timov found it deeply unsettling.

She hovered her fingers over the touchpad to the side of the door to activate it, and with resolve, she touched the pad at last. But nothing happened. It was locked. Or rather, she was locked out. Timov's eyes grew wider, a shot of anger racing through her veins. Londo had done some absurd things in his day, but this was incomprehensible. Londo had never locked a door in his life unless something was terribly wrong, and certainly never one between him and his wives. It was first and foremost a matter of common courtesy. They were married, after all. Secondly, she suspected that unlocked doors were a great help to him when he was inebriated and unable to manage locks in the wee hours of the morning.

It was the last straw.

Timov spun on her heel and marched toward the exit from her quarters, briskly passing by the guards as she exited the Royal Suite. The soldiers assigned to her fell in step behind her as she followed the long hallways that circled the wing of the palace dedicated to the Royal Suite until she arrived at another entrance to the Emperor's private quarters. Londo's personal guards already waiting there made no move to stop her as the doors opened, and she left her own guards there as she entered Londo's private rooms. He had undoubtedly seen her coming on his private monitors, and he could have easily locked the doors from the inside or instructed the guards to stop her, so she knew that __he knew__ she was coming before she even laid eyes upon him.

She surveyed the suite as she looked for her husband, but it was the sound of ruffling paper behind her that turned her around to find him occupying a small couch near the entryway, surrounded by unorganized stacks of papers, undoubtedly reports from the ministries and communiques from the diplomatic corps.

"Londo," she addressed him.

Londo upset the papers surrounding him as he stood, and there was a sharp edge to his voice as he cut her off, "In the confusion and chaos of the other day, I did not require it. But now, you will greet me as befits an Emperor of the Republic."

"Oh, please, Londo," Timov rolled her eyes.

Londo's eyes hardened, and Timov lifted her chin in defiance as she saw his resolve. "Or what? You will have me executed for my insolence? There is no one here but us, and I have been your wife close to three decades now. I had hoped your association with that libertine Cartagia would not blemish your remaining decency, but I can see that I was wrong."

Londo snorted, staring at the ceiling. "You haven't changed," he sighed. "You aren't even impressed __now__."

"And __what__ am I meant to be impressed about?" Timov folded her hands.

Londo gestured at the seal that hung around his neck. "I am the Emperor of the Centauri Republic. Even this does not impress you?"

Timov looked curiously at her husband. "Tell me the full story about how you became emperor, and I will tell you if I am impressed."

Londo ground his teeth, his frustration beginning to show. "Not an inch you give me!" He paused, trying to rein in his frustration, "You can't possibly have circled the entire palace on the way from your quarters just to bait me, so why are you blessing me with your..." he took in a deep sigh, mustering his patience, "...charming presence?"

Timov did not even know where to begin, but she gathered herself, "As you perhaps are aware, I have also ascended to a new position recently - the same day you did, in fact."

Londo's brow furrowed, "I __know__ what you are."

"Are you quite sure? You ask me to recognize your position, and yet you have disregarded our people's traditions."

"What are you talking about?" Londo demanded.

"What Emperor would leave his wives at home, without introducing them to the people? Have you forgotten two-thirds of the Centauri population is made up of women? And that your actions reflect on the whole of the nation?"

Londo snorted, "Is that why you are really here, Timov?"

Timov sighed. "Yes." She held his gaze unflinchingly. "And because it is my __right__ to claim my place and my position. If you are going to rob me of it, you might have the decency to do it to my face."

"Ahhhhh," he pointed at her, "now we get to the heart of it. It is not the Republic, it is your position that concerns you."

"A position that also reflects on you Londo," Timov replied testily. "Day in and day out visitors buzz around me intent on bending my ear - and by extension, yours. They shower gifts upon me as if I need any of their trinkets, and they subtly ask for favors in return. Any privacy I enjoyed at the Great House has evaporated with this new turn of circumstances. And not one word from you in the meantime! What am I to tell these people, when my own husband tells me nothing? You have not sent for me, and you have not made your routine rounds to the Great House since before you became Emperor - and even when you were Prime Minister, your visits dwindled to nothing. All you have done is send a troop of soldiers who have camped out in our home and who follow me around uselessly. You haven't sent a list of events I'm meant to attend in your place nor even rung to ensure your House is still functioning. All of this has fallen to me, and I have managed. Even now, when I have come to check on your welfare, you toss me aside, locking me out as if I am a mere visitor here, but I will not be played a fool, Londo."

"A fool?" Londo clasped his hands behind him as a stern look fell over his face. "What are you speaking of?"

"Simply do it already and get it over with," Timov demanded.

Londo narrowed his eyes. "Do what?"

Uncharacteristically, emotion welled in Timov's eyes as she tried to blink it away. After a moment, she primly folded her hands and regained her ability to respond. "Divorce me."

"Divorce you?" Londo rocked back on his heels for a moment as he regarded her. "What are you talking about?"

Timov took a deep breath. "When you divorced Daggair and Mariel, you made it perfectly clear that you would have divorced all three of us if Emperor Turhan had allowed it. And now you are Emperor. And since you have abandoned your duties as a husband, it is clear what you are planning. I do not wish to wait like a beggar seeking scraps from your table, wondering when you will deign to inform me." A sheet passed over her face. "You will do it now," she instructed him.

Londo's brows had knitted together in disbelief. "I must be dreaming! First you descend upon me, bellowing at me as if I was a common servant - and I would remind you again that I am now the Emperor of the vast Centauri Republic, home to billions - and now you are __commanding__ me to end our marriage?"

The silence stretched between them.

At last Londo laughed, breaking the tension. He paused, searching her eyes for a moment before continuing. "You do realize that I have been busy, yes? I have a whole country to run. I have left the day-to-day considerations of the House to you, and I trusted that you would look after it as you always have. I thought you would be pleased that I have left these responsibilities to you without interference, including my absence at the Great House. And I thought you would be even more pleased at my elevation to Emperor considering the years you have hounded me about my position."

Timov's eyes blazed through him, "You have confused me with Daggair."

Londo seem to consider this statement for a moment before he nodded. "Perhaps you are right at that." He paused before continuing. "Would you prefer that I had divorced you when I divorced Mariel and Daggair?" He seemed genuinely curious to hear her response.

Timov stewed silently before responding. "I know why you chose to stay married to me."

"Oh?" Londo said, amused. "And what might that be?"

"You __knew__. You __knew__ that I donated my blood to save your life when you were poisoned. I told the medical staff __not__ to tell you, but they obviously did not heed my instructions." But even as she was saying the words, she saw the slightest crack in his veneer, a twitch around his eyes at her words. And even as her words poured forth, she gleaned that he had not known.

"I have never held it against you," he said, the mask of nonchalance drawing over his momentary lapse.

Timov stared at him for several moments, trying to discern the meaning of his actions those years before. As she considered his decision to choose her, she noticed the weariness in his face, the sag of his shoulders, and the bags under his eyes for the first time. He looked as though he hadn't slept since he had arrived at the palace. "You look dreadful," she said at last.

Londo grunted at her remark. "You never disappoint, my dear. The palace sycophants tell me anything they think I will like to hear, but such a thing would never occur to you." He smiled at last.

Seeing his change in demeanor, Timov exhaled, and her voice grew softer, "Since you have neglected your visits home, there has been," Timov bit her lip, blinking away emotion, "a void."

"A void?" Londo chuckled, "You have been telling me I have a void between my ears for years."

Timov pursed her lips in disapproval. "I have never said that."

"Well," he took her hand gently, "are you saying, then, that you missed me?" The nakedness of his words lingered in the air as the moments stretched on. As he watched Timov trying not to meet his eye, a grin crept onto his face, and Londo pulled Timov into a bear hug and whispered into her ear, with a hint of disbelief as he realized it himself, "You know, I have missed you too."

"Unhand me, you brute," Timov struggled half-heartedly before resigning herself to her husband's demonstrative actions.

As he released her at last, Londo nodded to himself and then shook his head. "I know you think I have abandoned you, but my schedule is no longer my own. The government has delayed a number of serious matters since the Regent cloistered himself behind closed doors, and it has all fallen on my head." He closed his eyes with a sigh. "I've hardly had a moment to myself, and even when I find a moment's peace, I do not sleep well at night."

"Then let me help," Timov put a gentle hand on his arm. "I have no wish to be idle, and I might be of use."

Londo gazed toward the palace hallways for a few moments without response. "You may do whatever you like. But . . . ."

Timov arched an eyebrow at his uneasiness and indecisiveness.

"I would prefer if you resided at the Great House, or I will reopen one of the other palaces or . . . ." Londo paused momentarily at the expression on Timov's face, "It isn't that I don't want you here."

"Is there something wrong with the palace?" Timov asked pointedly.

Chagrin crept onto Londo's face. "What could possibly be wrong at the palace?" he said, and Timov detected an odd note in his voice. He wandered over to his wet bar and poured them both a drink. As he poured, his back to Timov, he explained, "The people are angry at everything that has happened, and perhaps the palace is not the safest place."

Timov sniffed, "This is the safest place on the planet. You have an entire defense network around the palace and a personal army stationed meters away."

"As you say," Londo responded, downing half of his brivari in one swig. "Speaking of which, I have taken legal custody of young Senna Refa."

Timov blinked with surprise, "You've taken legal custody of Senna Refa after what happened?"

Londo nodded once.

Timov gathered that her husband had come to some sort of understanding with the young woman, although she could hardly conceive of what it could be. Although it might have appeared to be a rash decision on Londo's part, Timov approved of it. She had seen the young Refa girl from time to time since she had been a child, and Timov was certain that what she needed was second chance with the support of a noble house, not the end of a pike. "You will not punish her then?"

"She is not her father," Londo responded thoughtfully. "But she is a young woman in need of guidance. I would like you to oversee her education. I trust you will find her the finest tutors in every subject a young lady should be educated in."

"Of course," Timov accepted Londo's instruction. "But I also have some requests."

"What are they?" Londo sipped his remaining brivari.

"I would like to name my own Royal Guard Captain, someone I can trust. And young Traco Jaddo has asked after you. I'd like to bring him to the palace for a few days. And lastly, I would like you to unlock that door. As a matter of courtesy in deference to our marriage."

Londo nodded. "You will send your nominee to me for the position of captain of your guards, and I would like very much to see young Traco again. I have missed him, and he has all the manerisms of his uncle. But as for the last request, I must decline it." Londo shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I eh," he seemed to struggle for words, "I have meetings at all times of the day and night. I do not wish to subject you to the parade of people who tromp in and out."

"If you were concerned about me, you'd let me lock it from my side, at a time and place of my choosing."

"Timov," Londo's voice became firmer. "I wish to protect you. It will remain locked."

"That makes no sense at all, Londo. This is now my house as much as yours. I demand you unlock it."

Londo would no longer meet her eyes. "I have eh…been having…some terrible night terrors. A few bad nights here and there. If I am having a bad night, I do not want you to stumble in upon me."

"Night terrors?" Timov placed a shocked hand on her breast. "You've never had anything like that before. Is it serious? How often has it been happening? Have you seen someone about it?"

"It is not often," he said quietly, "but I do not wish to subject you to it. It is deeply humiliating. I've instructed the guards not to interrupt me at certain times, and you must trust me that it is for the best."

"It is from a lack of sleep, no doubt," Timov sniffed.

"As you say," Londo swirled his brivari thoughtfully.

Timov considered her husband's disheveled state. It was very unlike him, and she perceived the amount of stress he had been placed under over the past few months. So, for the first time in a long time, she took pity on him. "Stay with me tonight," she offered him quietly. She knew that whatever trouble Londo was having falling asleep would be cured by the presence of a warm body near him. Although she found his sleeping habits exasperating and dreadfully uncomfortable most of the time, a warm body acted like an anchor for him in the night. He would toss and turn all night until he could curl up, his arm hooked haphazardly around the body next to him, and then he slept like a stone. It was as if physical closeness, the mere touch of another body, calmed him into restful slumber.

Londo's glass of brivari froze at his lips. "I would like that," he replied, equally softly.

As she rose to return to her quarters, Londo stopped her. "Timov," he struggled for words, "thank you for helping me the other day."

Timov gazed at Londo with an arched eyebrow. "Lest your head get too big, I'll remind you that your actions reflect on your entire House and now, your country, which includes me, to my chagrin. Now, was there something you wanted to talk to __me__ about?"

Londo glanced toward the ledgers but shook his head. "Not tonight, no," he responded. "We can discuss it some other night."

Londo accompanied Timov through the interior door to her quarters. He waved her in, promising to join her later when he had finished his reading for the night.

On the other side of the door, Timov found herself alone again. She closed her eyes, considering that the conversation had gone better than she had expected. They were still married, and that was a marvel in itself. Their relationship had never been perfect - and 25 years had built certain habits in them both. But if they were going to live in the same building, even one as large as the palace, perhaps this could be the beginning of an understanding, at least.

Timov walked to her private bath. On the counter, she retrieved a vial, injecting it into her arm with a gasp and a wince. Her eyes glazed over as relief engulfed her body, and after a moment, she gathered the vial and syringe and buried them deep on the shelf, hiding them from the view of anyone who might peer into the cabinet.

* * *

Later that night, Timov lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her bedchamber as Londo's arm was thrown over her midriff, his snoring filling the room. For once, she did not mind, partially because she perceived that his newfound dedication to his job was causing much of his stress and sleeplessness, and she recognized the imperativeness of his dedication, considering his new position. Perhaps it was because he now had the most important job in the country, but for much of his career, he had been more than happy to jettison his duties when something more intriguing came along. But now, he seemed to be taking his duties very seriously, and Timov certainly approved of that. It was a vast improvement over his early performance in the diplomatic corps. She had noted that he seemed to have some sort of mid-life crisis over the past decade of his life, and this, too, appeared to have finally resolved itself. Londo seemed to have grown into his responsibilities over the past few years, and these were all improvements over the wreck of a husband she had endured a few years earlier.

Timov looked down at Londo's sleeping form, seemingly content and peaceful. Regardless of their personal challenges, Londo was the Emperor, and he deserved both rest and a respite from Centauri politics. Timov had ordered the guards to turn away any requests or visitors for the night, and she would ensure that he would have a sanctum to recover, for this night at least.

Timov also contemplated Londo's outright lie to her. He had told her that she could not enter his suite at her whimsy because of his night terrors, yet he had accepted her invitation into her bedchamber without hesitation. Certainly, he had known her invitation was not for anything other than the conveniency of sleeping arrangements, for they had shared little intimacy for some years, yet he seemed content enough to ward off his sleeplessness with her by his side, and he had not seemed to consider that his night terrors, if he was actually having any, would affect him in her bedroom as easily as his own. His Achilles' heel was his loneliness - Timov had known that for some time, but it didn't explain his locked door, or his lie. And Timov would get to the bottom of it, one way or another.


	7. The Guardian

"AN OUTRAGE!" the Defense Minister bellowed. "He can't possibly be serious. A WOMAN! To chair the cabinet meetings? It is a mockery!" The portly defense minister stomped around his office. "This is madness," Wesa ground his teeth. "I always thought Mollari was a little unsound." Wesa grabbed the papers from his desk, crushing them in his hands as he turned on his heel for the cabinet meeting, leaving his aides scurrying after him.

As he entered the ornamental cabinet room, Wesa frowned, glancing at the Empress who was already seated at the head of the table. His lip curled inwardly as he noticed the Emperor was absent, and Wesa jammed himself into the chair to the right of the Empress with displeasure. Wesa glanced up momentarily, noting the other ministers were all present - everyone but Minister Palazzo. Wesa snorted to himself, " _Typical,"_ he thought. Palazzo was always late, and rude, and loud. If there was anyone who had put himself on Wesa's bad side over the course of the last few months, it was Palazzo. " _Self-entitled prick,"_ Wesa thought, considering how Palazzo had crawled his way over the ruins of other nobles' careers to become the Minister of Agriculture. Under other circumstances, Wesa might have liked Palazzo, but not when he was convinced Palazzo was ultimately out for his job.

The Empress called the meeting to order, her signature look of disapproval warning the ministers to be on their best behavior. Even if all the ministers had not made her personal acquaintance, her reputation preceded her, and as she called for order, the usual bickering and roaring of insults over the table diminished quickly.

"Guards," she checked the time. "Bar the room."

The ministers scrambled to their feet, raising their voices with consternation and objections sprinkled with expletives before the Empress interrupted them quietly, and they reluctantly silenced themselves to hear her words, "Your last meeting," she pointed out, "was over five hours. It is absurd the amount of time you spend bickering in this room with absolutely nothing to show for it. Half of you stumble in hours after the meeting starts, and the other half use this room like it is a waiting room for their office. Now," Timov's voice became brittle, challenging the ministers to challenge her authority. "The Emperor has been called away on other business, and he has asked me to rely matters of importance to him."

The room broke out into animated objections again about the impropriety of such an action, and this time Timov allowed it for a few minutes before she added, "And he has asked that Plancho take down the names of each minister that refuses to comply with his directions." At this the ministers sat down stiffly, looking like a room of aged schoolboys who had just been disciplined.

Wesa's thoughts drifted quickly to the pikes erected on the palace grounds. They had been liberally used under Cartagia's reign, and it was far too early to tell how much Mollari would be using them. It was best, in this instance, to be conservative until he had felt out the new emperor's penchant for blood.

Surveying the room's newfound quiet, Timov nodded to the long table of ministers. "You will present your reports in order of seniority," she instructed.

The senior ministers immediately nodded their approval at her apparent deference to their positions, and the younger ministers merely squirmed in their seats, disapproval evident on their faces.

"And if I must sit through this charade," she continued, "so must you."

"I AM THE MINISTER OF AGRICULTURE," a booming voice broke through one of the doorways, and a struggling hand reached over the shoulders of the Emperor's guards who pushed back against the figure trying to enter. "I do not abide lateness," Timov calmly continued without so much as a glance at the door. "You have been placed into positions of authority, and if you cannot make the most important meeting of your day in a timely manner, apparently you have nothing important to relay to His Majesty."

Wesa leaned back in his chair, an oddly contented look settling on his face. _Perhaps this wasn't so bad after all_ , he thought as he delightedly watched the arm of Palazzo stop struggling and resignedly withdraw itself from the door. A smile crossed Wesa's face as he heard Palazzo yell in frustration before the sound of his diminishing footsteps faded in the hallway beyond the cabinet.

In less than an hour, the cabinet had concluded their business, the ministers unwilling to test Timov's patience or to risk the Emperor's ire by directly opposing her authority.

As the ministers filed out, Wesa swaggered to the Emperess's side. "A moment of your time, Majesty?" the smell of brivari and smoke lingered on Wesa's robust figure. Without waiting for her to respond, he smiled suavely, "I'm _so_ glad you understand the importance of seniority," he began in his gravely voice. "If you need anything . . ." he began.

"I'll let you know," Timov replied briskly.

* * *

In his office, Londo waved to Emanio, one of the royal footmen. "Send him in," he commanded Emanio.

Emanio's heels clacked together in affirmation as he retreated toward the door and showed the stranger to Londo's inner office.

The stranger felt his nerves surging through his veins. The tension in his body had started at the gates of the palace. He had never set foot on the palace's grounds before, and they had only gotten increasingly tense with each footstep toward's the Emperor's office. Now, buried under the guise of a decorated uniform, the burly soldier gritted his teeth and knelt on one knee at the door, his head bowed to the floor.

"Phylakios," Londo paged through the man's file. "is it?"

The man inclined his head further, still on bended knee.

Londo looked up, noticing the man's position for the first time. "Phylakios," his voice boomed with authority, " _that,"_ he gestured at Phylakios's kneeling position, "is reserved for slaves and commoners, and you have been nominated to the position of the Empress's Captain of the Guards, so come here."

Phylakios paused with an instant of indecision but arose, as commanded, his head still bowed as he closed the distance to the Emperor's desk.

"Your Majesty," he whispered, as he drew closer, his eyes darting over the ground.

Londo tossed the papers he was looking at aside. "Tell me, Phylakios, why are you qualified to become a Captain in the Royal Guards?"

"I am not qualified, Your Majesty," came the quiet reply.

Londo narrowed his eyes at the muscular man in front of him. "My wife seems to think you are qualified. Are you contradicting her judgment?"

"No, Your Majesty," came the quick reply from Phylakios.

"Then . . . you _are_ qualified?" Londo asked, chagrined.

"I would not dispute Her Majesty's word," Phylakios could not meet the Emperor's eye.

"You, eh . . ." Londo cast a critical eye over the soldier in front of him, "you serve at the Legionnaire's Academy, yes?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I am the commanding officer of cadet readiness there. I have served in that capacity for six years."

Londo glanced back at the files in front of him for a moment, a contemplative expression on his face. "So you command a great deal of respect within the military communities of Centauri Prime, including the respect of your fellow soldiers and the graduates of the most esteemed academy on Centauri Prime?"

"It is an honor to have served my country in such a capacity, Your Majesty."

Londo leaned back in his chair for a moment, observing the decorated soldier. The medals draped from Phylakios's dress uniform attested to his many accomplishments, but he did not present them, as befitted the occasion.

Londo's voice fell, almost to a growl. "And how is it you know my wife, Phylakios?" he asked, staring at the files on his desk.

Phylakios's eyes darted to the Emperor, indecision evident on his face. "I – I . . ." he stumbled, "she . . . ."

"Nevermind," Londo waved a hand, sullenness having fallen over his visage. "If she believes in your loyalty," he sighed heavily, "then I will not deny her this request. But eh," he paused, seeming unsure for a moment, "there is something I wish to know." Londo didn't look at the soldier, his voice lowering to a deadly quiet, "Do you love my wife, Phylakios?"

Finally, Phylakios stood, drawing himself to his full height, a spark of fear ricocheting through his core. He would need to tread very lightly. "Your Majesty, I have a wife and a family that I love as a husband and a man. I love Your Majesty and Her Majesty as a humble servant of the Centauri Empire and the House of Algul. My love of the Empress is one of respect, as due her station."

Londo grunted. "You should have been a dipomat, Phylakios, not a soldier, I see." The Emperor paused, thinking. "And my wife... does she … does she love you? For I see she had been sending money to you for years - financing your house and your station at the Academy."

Phylakios blinked with confusion, before the notes of realization dawned in his eyes. "No, Your Majesty," his eyes dropped again. "The Empress's fidelity to her family is beyond reproach."

Londo laughed with disbelief. "Are you denying she has sent you money for years, Phylakios?"

Phylakios bite his lip, "No, Majesty, I cannot deny it."

Londo nodded, "Then would you care to explain her expenditures to me?"

Phylaksio swallowed hard, sure that his very life was on the line. "It is not for me to explain, Majesty. My duty is to obey."

Londo stood up, his teeth grinding with fury as he pointed at the soldier. "If you know the answers to my questions, I expect you to answer me, to answer the questions of your Emperor."

Phylakios could feel his very life was hanging by a thread, but in a low, soft voice, he answered, "Discretion is one of my highest duties, Majesty. I would not break my mistress's trust by divulging her secrets to anyone. Not even you, Your Majesty."

Londo's eyes hardened, and his voice turned raw. Almost to himself, he said, "At least someone may count on loyalty here." Then he turned to Phylakios, and louder, he commanded, "Get out." His voice betrayed his anger, but he said nothing more.

Dutifully, Phylakios retreated, eyes on the ground until he was well out of the Emperor's presence.

To his great surprise, that evening, he received a communique from the palace instructing him to report, first thing in the morning, as the Captain of the Empress's Guards.

* * *

The next time Timov saw Londo, she noted that he seemed sullen and withdrawn.

"I have done as you asked," Timov told him, "though I don't know who was more taken aback - your ministers or me." Timov noticed her husband's glare and she responded in kind. "I trust you're over whatever amusement at my expense that you found at having me chair your cabinet meeting."

Londo remained silent.

Timov forced down her anger and exasperation. "It was unfair of you, Londo, to put me in such a position. I don't think the ministers were keen on it either."

"I don't care what the ministers were keen on," Londo replied. "And I wish you to continue to chair the meetings."

"Because you wish to see this mockery continue?" Timov demanded.

"No," Londo replied, "I would not have given you a task of which you were not capable. I would _never_ have embarrassed you."

"Is that so?" she challenged him rigidly. "I'm well aware you only asked me to chair that meeting because it amused you to see your ministers taking direction from a woman. I hope have had your fill of it, because I have."

Londo's tone softened, "It amused me to think of the ministers submitting to a woman's orders, that is true, but I have never questioned _your_ abilities. And as my wife, your actions reflect on me. Besides," he poured himself a brivari, looking at it with thoughtfulness. "If I cannot trust my own wife, then who _can_ I trust?"

Timov observed his sullenness, "Londo, you have always enjoyed the politics of the palace. You haven't soured on them so quickly?"

"It is hard," he stared into his drink, "to know upon whom I may count these days."

Timov took the brivari gently from his hand, "As you wife, I will support you. And if you wish me to continue in this charade, then I shall do so. But I wonder if you are making the right decisions, for the right reasons."

Londo glanced back at her, "I am doing the best that I can with what I am capable of doing." Londo shook his head, frustration evident in his face. He seemed to consider saying something before shaking off his melancholy. "I have," his face lightened considerably, "also named you as my representative if I am incapacitated."

"What?" Timov's face drained of color. "For what reason?"

"Because I have to name someone," Londo snorted. "Cartagia named his pet _thrasio_ to prevent people from incapacitating him. A woman will do much the same for me as naming a small amphibian did for him."

"Oh Londo," Timov rolled her eyes.

Londo shrugged. "It is my life insurance. I cannot dispute the number of Emperors who have met their fate by a knife in the back from their own supporters. And you already scared the ministers into submission during that cabinet meeting - the thought of a woman exercising the power of the entire Centauri Republic will certainly prevent them from acting against me if they cannot kill me outright. If I name any of the ministers, they will believe i am going to name that individual to the position of Prime Minister shortly since it remains vacant, and they will start their machinations at once. This gesture will buy me some time and it will keep them just off-balance enough that I don't need to worry about them just yet. In the meantime, I must only worry that you will not act against me, but since you derive your power from me, I think you are wise enough not to take any action against me."

Timov observed his odd glare. "Why on Centauri Prime would I act against you? Of course you can trust me. I don't particularly enjoy being the pawn in your little game of politics, but I will do what I can to support you. I have already started on straightening out the palace, and I will do what I can with your cabinet of miscreants, although I had rather hoped you would have sacked half of them by now since they are the same people that caused such chaos under Cartagia and Verini. Honestly, I can't imagine why you are keeping any of them on since you have filled my ears with your complaints about each of them over the years. There's not one that you like or trust."

Disregarding her comments on his cabinet, Londo replied, "I know what you have done for me these past few weeks - how you have straightened out the palace staff - the hiring you have overseen. It has not gone unnoticed. In return," Londo sighed, "I have appointed your Captain of the Guards."

"Good," Timov said, not meeting his eye. "I hope he met with your expectations."

"Timov," Londo caught her attention with his tone.

"Yes?" she responded.

Londo stared hard at her for a few moments before appearing to give up on whatever he was going to confront her with. "I do not wish to stand in the way of your happiness," he said morosely, "but I do not wish to be made a fool either."

Timov's eyes widened in surprise momentarily before she responded, "I trust him. He will do everything he is asked. And I will not let you down either. On that, you may rely." She broke off Londo's gaze, wondering how much he knew and how much longer she could keep this secret from him, if he hadn't found out already. It was not only Londo's anger that she dreaded, but his disappointment as well. To tell the truth, she was even more disappointed in herself, in her own ideals that she had failed to uphold. These were the thoughts that prevented her from simply telling him, at long last, but prevent her they did.


	8. A Drop of Time

Over the next several months, Timov had a front row seat to the inner workings of the cabinet. Though she had no real power in the cabinet room, her position gave her an intimate view of the machinations of Londo's regime. The ministers had seized upon the angry sentiment expressed in Londo's inauguration speech, and they dedicated their efforts to building discontent among the Centauri for the Alliance which, in turn, helped revive the sleeping giant's military machine. The crippling sanctions imposed by President Sheridan only bolstered their efforts, and dissatisfaction with the interstellar Alliance was increasing among the Centauri population.

Timov observed all of these plans in silence. As a diplomat, Londo had always been a prominent supporter of interstellar relations, and knowing their strength, he had always advocated for a prudently peaceful equilibrium with the Minbari. He had also been a prominent supporter of Centauri-human relations, but his regime's new nationalistic course was beginning to take on a decidedly xenophobic atmosphere.

The about-face in Londo's behavior concerning the Interstellar Alliance after the Shadow War troubled Timov deeply. There did not seem to be an explanation for it, but she noticed that in private, he would stare vacantly out the windows of the palace toward the destruction caused by the attack for hours. Their planet would be rebuilding from its destruction for years, and many people had died, but it did not explain his complete reversal of Centauri foreign policy after a lifetime as a diplomat. Having been a soldier himself, he knew when to use the military's might, but he also knew that it came at the cost of Centauri lives. Timov broached the subject with him only twice, and both times he had simply brushed off her questions without a response, which, in itself, was quite unlike him.

In addition, Londo had become more irritable than normal; although, at first, Timov wrote this off, attributing it to the new strains of his office. But after some time, she perceived an emergent pattern in his behavior. In the beginning of his tenure, Londo had turned down several of the ministers' more outlandish and oppressive proposals outright, but at subsequent meetings, he had returned to the preposterous proposals, sometimes modifying them slightly, but ultimately half-heartedly accepting them. He had fumed in private around the same times, clearly upset, but beyond petty annoyances, he refused to discuss the central cause of his aggravation with her. As time went on, she noticed that he was less determined to unilaterally veto the most extreme and oppressive proposals immediately, since he seemed to ultimately accept them anyway, but equally, he never accepted them when they were first proposed, only returning to them later.

The only time Londo's good humor returned in spades was when his mind was relieved of politics. Usually, this consisted of the frequent visits by Urza Jaddo's nieces, the oldest of them bringing her young son, Traco Jaddo, who Londo had often declared to anyone that would listen reminded him of his deceased friend. In private, Londo confided to Timov that once Traco had reached the age of his Ascension, he would revive House Jaddo, a noble house disbanded under Cartagia's reign, and this seemed to give him great satisfaction.

Senna Refa, too, found the visits by Urza's nieces to be heart-warming. She had quickly bonded with them, and took their advice to heart. Since they were fond of Londo, they had a clear impact on Senna's interactions with the Emperor, and Senna's cold initial attitude toward Londo appeared to be softening. Londo, for his part, seemed completely oblivious to her aloofness, for he regaled her with stories, boasted of her accomplishments to his staff, and generally ensured her well-being, treating her, Timov thought, much as he would likely treat a naturally born child of his own. Under other circumstances, a Centauri noble would often take the next step of official adoption, but Londo had never broached the subject with Timov, and she suspected the issue of Lord Refa's demise was likely the reason.

Timov considered bringing in a slew of private tutors for Senna's education, but on reflection, she considered the inequity of employing tutors for her young charge without providing their services to a larger population. The thought that swayed her, though, was the brutal track record of isolated nobles. Specifically, her thoughts turned to Cartagia. His social isolation as a young man had only increased his mental depravity toward his fellow Centauri when he had become emperor, and Timov felt that young, malleable minds required constant social interaction with their peers to form healthy social bonds.

Timov located a building close to the palace grounds, and she had the property renovated into a girls' school. She presented Londo with the plan for the school - along with a list of "appropriate" subjects for the girls to study - and she had been fully prepared to fight him tooth and nail when he ruled out certain topics not generally designated for women's studies. He had taken the list, glanced at it quickly, chuckled, and only said, "All right, but _you_ have to answer to their parents." His capitulation had left Timov speechless, but she dared not press him on it for fear he would change his mind. So, without further encouragement, she used her office's funds to ensure the small school had a diverse and robust student body. She paid particular attention to young women who had lost families in the recent bombing, giving Senna classmates with experiences similar to her own, but Timov also included women from diverse economic circumstances - from slave-born children to commoners to nobility. In addition, having the Empress as its sponsor and benefactor attracted exceptional teachers for the fledgling school and the brightest minds for her peers. Within 6 months of Senna's arrival to the palace, the school had started a grueling schedule of classes, and the depression that initially engulfed Senna seemed to abate with her new schedule, new friends, and the congenial visits by Urza's nieces.

As for her husband, Timov noticed that Londo's behavior changes had commenced when he had become Emperor, and the timing led Timov to only one conclusion: one of the ministers had some sort of damaging information on Londo, and he was being blackmailed into policy decisions he clearly disagreed with. Timov only had to find out which minister it was and what information could possibly blackmail an Emperor of the Centauri Republic. Considering the most senior Minister was Wesa, she suspected him, but she also suspected Palazzo, for House Palazzo was known for its xenophobic tendencies, and Palazzo himself often authored the most infuriating cabinet proposals. Whoever it was, she would find out, and she would put a stop to his actions - holding not only Londo hostage, but their entire country as well.

* * *

"The Minister of Trade reports food shortages are imminent throughout Centauri Prime," Londo growled toward the shadow in the corner of his private quarters.

"The strongest will survive," Shiv'kala said.

"What does that mean?" Londo shot back.

"It means," Shiv'kala replied calmly, "that the weaker Centauri among your population will be relieved of their lives so that there will be adequate sustenance for the stronger population."

" _What_?" Londo was infuriated, and his jaw shook with anger.

"Let them die," Shiv'kala shrugged. "The remaining - stronger - population will survive on less, and you will have more resources available for the military buildup we have instructed.

"This is an _outrage_ ," Londo shouted angrily. "I will _not_ do it!"

"We have cracked your Defense Grid, and we can turn it on your citizens at any moment we wish," Shiv'kala stated in a low, even tone.

" _I don't care_ ," Londo's fingers clenched into fists. " _I won't do it._ I won't starve my people to death because you need more money for your war machine. If you are going to kill them one way or the other, then let them suffer the quick death of the defense grid rather than the slow death of starvation."

A slow smile seemed to spread over the Drakh's face. "We shall see about that," he replied as his eyes hardened, and Mollari's body crumpled to the floor, spasming with pain.

* * *

Londo disappeared, as he sometimes did, for several days into his personal chambers. No one dared approach the Emperor during times like this considering the orders he had given to stay away. He emerged, several days later, haggard and sleep-deprived. Timov blinked when she saw him. His eyes were red, and his temper was short. He walked by her to his office without so much as a word of greeting, leaving her staring after him.

Timov had handled the staff of the palace with her no-nonsense standards for excellence, and over time, her diligence had commanded respect and ultimately paid its own dividends. The head of the cleaning staff approached her later in the that afternoon, his head bowed in deference.

"Yes?" she asked.

The head of the cleaning staff pulled out a towel, embossed with the seal of the Emperor, stained a dark burgundy.

Timov's breath caught in her chest, "Blood?"

The man's head dipped in acknowledgement.

"From his quarters?" she asked.

Another nod.

"Keep me informed," she commanded, and he disappeared into the palace's depths.

"Oh Londo," she whispered as she looked at the towel, wondering what it could all mean.

* * *

Londo dragged himself to his office, letting his body slump into his chair, exhausted. He refused all visitors that morning, but when an urgent knock at the door roused him from his thoughtfulness, he waved Emanio in.

"What is it?" he asked.

Emanio entered slowly, his knuckles white with a piece of paper tightly gripped in his hand. "A message, Majesty," came Emanio's nervous reply.

"Give it here then," came the tired response.

With a shaking hand, Emanio stretched out his hand to the Emperor. "I'm so sorry," he said, and the Emperor's eyes rested on him for a moment before Londo slowly unfolded the note. At its contents, Londo's jaw moved back and forth wordlessly, and his eyes filled with tears. "Not Carn," he managed, before crumpling the note in his fist.

* * *

Shiv'kala watched Mollari with interest. The Centauri was taking a stand, although Shiv'kala doubted it would last for long.

"How _could_ you?" Mollari raged with anger. "My only nephew?" He shook a furious finger at Shiv'kala. "The last male heir to House Mollari in my immediate familyi?!" Londo put a shaking hand to his brow and his voice fell to a whisper, "He did not deserve a knife in the back," Londo's chest heaved with emotion. "You can do whatever you like to me, but . . . ."

"Now you know what it means to defy us," Shiv'kala said calmly. "The arm of the Drakh reaches long and far. You will heed our orders, or we will crush everything."

"He was only a scientist," Londo whispered. "He had no importance to your activities here." Londo's knees quaked and he put a hand on the wall to keep himself from falling. "What more can you take?"

"There is so much more," Shiv'kala thought to himself, "so very much."

* * *

At the next cabinet meeting, Londo solemnly announced that the government would begin implementing food rations, and the Ministry of Defense would oversee the rationing to ensure defense personnel maintained their readiness. He also authorized limited strikes on nearby targets within former Centauri space - a move that was sure to infuriate the Alliance, but which would solidify Centauri sentiment against the interference of other races as they reclaimed colonized space.

That night, Londo returned to Timov's side for the first night since he had granted her request to appoint Phylakios her Captain of the Guards, and she set their differences aside once again, for she saw his anguish at the unexpected death of his nephew, the last living member of his immediate family. She instictively knew that no one else in the palace appeciated his bond with his nephew, and she let him drink himself into oblivion without comment or rebuke, and she ensured that he was not disturbed during his fitful slumber as she lay awake, staring ino the dark that engulfed her bedchamber. She had spent so much of her energy over the last few months ensuring the orderliness of the palace and the administration of Senna's new school that Timov had neglected Londo, himself. She took note of his despondency, and she decided that it was time to act.

* * *

For the second time in as many weeks, Emanio rushed to the Emperor's side, his face white.

"What is it?" Londo asked him concernedly.

"Ma-Ma-Majesty," Emanio's whole body shook, "I regret to-to inform you that . . .."

"Well, _what is it_?" Londo asked again.

"An-an explosion," Emanio gulped, waving toward the monitors in Londo's office.

"Where?" Londo asked before getting to his feet and grasping Emanio's shoulders. " _Where?_ " he asked again.

"Babylon 5," Emanio managed to respond, and Londo slumped into his chair, his chest paralyzed with fear.

"Turn on the news," Londo instructed.

"Its-its not on the news yet, Majesty. It just happened."

"Are there casualties?"

Emanio nodded, "It was a significant explosion."

"Do you know where it happened?"

"The um...Z...z...there is some sort of central market area that..."

"The Zocolo?" Londo cut him off.

Emanio nodded. "Yes, I believe that was it."

"And . . ." Londo gritted his teeth, "our . . . diplomatic delegation?" he asked.

Emanio stared at his shoes, "They are unaccounted for."

"I see," Londo turned toward the window, hiding his emotions.


	9. The Sky Full of Tears

**Two Weeks Earlier**

Vir's young aide touched his elbow as Ambassador Cotto sat at McBari's, drowning himself in their Yolu fries. "Ambassador Cotto, the palace is waiting to talk to you," the young man informed him.

"Oh . . . oh!" Vir scrambled to his feet and made his way with haste to his personal quarters on Babylon 5. He had taken over Londo's quarters, but he had never made them his own. Vir had left the quarters in the same state Londo had left them when he had packed so suddenly for Centauri Prime as Prime Minister a few years before. The stoic portrait of the former-ambassador-turned-emperor still hung in the center of the room, looming over Vir's activities. Londo had probably forgotten of its existence, but Vir did not have the heart to take it down. It would seem odd, Vir thought, to take it back to the palace after all this time and almost heretical to replace it. Vir didn't have anything to put in its place beyond a few Minbari trinkets, and besides, the constantly looming face of the Emperor reminded Vir of his loyalty and his duty as the new Centauri Ambassador of Babylon 5.

Nervously, Vir scanned the room for his coat and hurriedly threw it on, buttoning it quickly. His ambassadorial garments were far more formal than the clothes he wore as an aide, as befitted his new rank and position on the station. He had little use for the stiff collars and the vestments of office – he certainly didn't feel like he had earned any of them – but it was expected by his countrymen. Nevertheless, when he was not required at meetings on the station, he tended to slip out of them into less formal Centauri clothing or – as today – the Minibari robes he had been given when he was stationed on Minbar. It would not be proper for him to receive a message from the Emperor in anything less than his ambassadorial garb, and if Londo caught him wearing his Minbari garments, he knew it would irritate Londo to no end.

As Vir quickly buttoned his jacket, a smile warmed Vir's face at the thought of seeing Londo again. He had gotten the distinct feeling over the past several months that Londo was avoiding him. He had left uncountable messages for the Emperor, and he had been redirected by palace staff to the Minister of Defense to "coordinate policy efforts." Not one of his messages had been returned by Londo. "Uh . . . Your Majesty," he stammered as the figure blinked into focus, but a moment later, he realized it was not Londo.

"Ambassador Cotto," Timov's shrill voice stiffened his spine. She paused inclining her head slightly. "Ambassador, are you aware that your entire jacket is . . . askew?" she asked.

Vir looked down at his jacket and realized he had buttoned the entire thing up improperly, each button off by a hole, which gave the unintended appearance of being either incompetent or inebriated.

"Oh," Vir panicked, quickly unbuttoning his jacket.

Timov cocked a disapproving eyebrow at him. "Are those some sort of Minbari robes you are wearing?"

"No – no," Vir realized his mistake too late as he quickly refastened his jacket and smoothed it nervously. "I mean, yes. Yes, but I didn't know that you would be calling."

Timov waved a hand in dismissal, "I have a favor to ask of you, if you are willing, although . . . " she gazed at his appearance, "perhaps I will need to ask more than one."

When Timov finished the explanation of her request, Vir stared at the ground for several moments before straightening his shoulders. "Yes," he nodded. "Of course, the answer is yes."

* * *

 **After the Explosion**

Minister Wesa flung several Babylon 5 specs aside with his arm in the middle of the bustling cabinet chambers, making way for the papers Plancho deposited in front them, new printouts of the damage reports that they had been receiving. While aides were loading the damage reports into digital specs on the monitors surrounding the room, the paper copies were the fastest way to get the information to the Emperor and Defense Minister. "It appears the blast emanated from near McBari's," Plancho informed them. "The Zocolo took the brunt of the explosion. I have the latest casualty figures. And . . . we are still trying to sort out the whereabouts of our diplomatic staff." Plancho fidgeted nervously, "There seems to be some dispute about whether the diplomatic staff was in fact _on_ Babylon 5 at the time of the explosion."

Londo furrowed his brow at Plancho's last comment but nodded solemnly, "Make it a priority of all our contacts on the station to locate the whereabouts and condition of all the Centauri on the station. And see if Babylon 5 needs medical ai…" Londo broke off in mid-sentence, his eyes growing wide. His breath caught for a moment, and Wesa threw out a hand to support him.

"Are you all right, Majesty?" Wesa leaned in.

After a moment, the Emperor seemed to steady himself, "Yes," he responded at last, shaking his head, "fine."

"Perhaps," Wesa offered, "Your Majesty would like to sit down?"

Londo looked at him blankly for a moment before nodding, and Plancho practically deposited him in the closest chair.

Before Wesa could sort out the Emperor's orders, the dainty figure of the Empress appeared in their midst. "What is going on?" she demanded, gesturing to the bustle of the crowded room.

"An explosion," one of the aides whispered to her, "on Babylon 5."

Timov looked at the aide with horror. Closing the distance to Londo's side, she noticed his dazed expression. "Londo," she addressed him, and put a hand on his shoulder, "you'd better come with me. There's something you need to see."

Londo gazed at his wife for a moment without appearing to process her words. At last, he answered, "Can't you see that I am busy?"

"It requires your immediate attention," she said. "Please," she added, "it is important."

Londo stared at her a moment longer before acknowledging her with a nod. "Wesa," he turned toward the Defense Minister. "Keep me informed of any developments."

Wesa bowed his acquiescence before turning to the aides and snapping orders at them.

Londo followed Timov out of the room bustling with activity, "What is it?" he asked quietly once they had cleared the crowded hallway and were headed towards his private office.

Wordlessly, Timov beckoned him into his office, and Londo walked in, already lecturing her on the inappropriateness of pulling him from the cabinet room during such a time, but as he turned, he froze, seeing a familiar figure hunched in a chair scrabble to his feet.

The weariness and worry written on Londo's face dissipated in that moment, and he pulled the figure into his hands. "Vir!" he patted Cotto's figure as if to assure himself the mirage was indeed real. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I" Vir glanced at Timov helplessly.

"I asked him to come," Timov interjected. "It was meant to be a surprise. The position of Royal Adjutant to the Sovereign remains vacant – you need a personal aide that you can depend upon - and I persuaded Ambassador Cotto that there was no one else you would entrust with such a position. I sent my royal cruiser for him, and he has just arrived."

"You what?" Londo turned on Timov with a growl, disapproval evident in his face. "You have crossed a line," he told her pointedly, but his displeasure disappeared in the same instant he turned back to Vir. "And yet . . . you are alive, Vir. It is good to see you, although I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Oh - oh, good," Vir grinned, "I mean, I've been calling with reports, and you haven't been taking - haven't been _able_ to take my reports. I'm - I'm sure you've been busy; it's just that it seemed like maybe you were avoiding . . . ." Vir stopped suddenly. "What do you mean 'better circumstances?' And why wouldn't I be alive?"

"There was an explosion on Babylon 5," Londo replied. "It is very serious, and there are a number of casualties. Have you had any contact with your aide?"

Vir's eyes grew wide with trepidation. "He came back with me - we thought," Vir looked to Timov, "I mean, _I_ thought that you might have new orders for him, and there was nothing important on the schedule for the next few days, so…."

Londo slumped into his chair, his eyes vacantly staring into the far wall. "So the diplomatic delegation to Babylon 5 came back on a royal cruiser?"

"Well," Timov folded her hands, "as I said, it was meant to be a surprise, so I . . . ."

"The Interstellar Alliance already distrusts us," Londo interrupted her. "I authorized limited strikes the other day in areas which have already raised the Interstellar Alliance's ire, and now it shall appear that I have recalled my diplomatic staff just before the explosion." He ground his teeth in frustration before looking up sharply at Timov, "Who else did you tell of this plan?"

Timov blinked with confusion. "What are you saying, Londo?"

"Who else?" Londo demanded, anger evident in his voice.

"I may have discussed the possibility or something like it with Dunsenny, Emanio, Minister Palazzo, and your Captain of the Guards, Mr. Durla. Everyone agreed you needed such assistance, although not all . . ." she glanced at Vir sympathetically, "were in agreement about the candidate."

At that moment, a call from Minister Wesa buzzed in Londo's office, and as Londo wearily switched it on, its sound seemed to ignite anger in him. He shook a finger at them. "I gave Vir an important post – a sensitive post – and now I find you two conspiring against my wishes. It is a time of crisis, and now I have no official representative on Babylon 5 to discuss the matter in person with Commander Lockley." He glanced at the screen. "Minister Wesa?"

"Your Majesty, the Alliance has stopped responding to our requests for information," Wesa's voice was heavy with concern.

"I'll bet they have," Londo waved everyone out of his office as he rubbed his throbbing temples.

* * *

Plancho tugged at Vir's coat sleeve, pulling him toward the cabinet room, and Timov nodded to him grimly. "They will need you in there, Vir. I will speak with Londo when his temper has cooled – this isn't your fault."

"Yes - yes, Your Majesty," he bowed and departed quickly, a lump in his throat at the thought of those killed on Babylon 5, and he wondered who lay among the dead and wounded.

Timov returned to her quarters, watching ISN with horror, her face paling as reports began to spread that the Centauri were suspected of sending undercover agents to carry out the bombing. She put a shaking hand to her temple, and she nearly collapsed onto the floor. Rising, she made her way to her bathroom, and she retrieved the hidden vial, injecting it into her arm as she had done so many times before. The relief overwhelmed her senses, and she steadied herself on the vanity. She shook the vial, seeing the small amount of substance remaining in it, and she squeezed it for a moment before replacing it in its hiding place.

* * *

"You did this!" Londo hurled his words at Shiv'kala with hatred. "You prevented me from even offering medical aide to the wounded on Babylon 5 with your cursed keeper, forcing me into submission in front of my ministers! You are intent upon driving the wedge further between my people and the IA. Are their crippling sanctions not enough?"

"No," Shiv'kala answered calmly. "They are not. When your people seethe with hatred toward the other worlds, they will be driven in their efforts, and we shall harness their anger into a better war machine."

"And _you think_ ," Londo raised his voice, "that the IA will not see through this charade? They wiill not figure out someone else is behind this?"

"Of course not," Shiv'kala replied coolly. "They will see exactly what they expect to see - that the Centauri caused the destruction of the station. And they will reciprocate. And your people's support of your efforts to rebuild the Centauri war machine will be tripled."

"You did all of this behind my because you knew I would not comply with you!" Londo stared after the creature. "You could not have known of Timov's plan without a keeper on someone else. Who is it?"

Shiv'kala inclined his head very slowly. "There is no other keeper, Mollari. Yours is the only one that is needed."

Mollari ground his teeth in frustration, spinning on his heel as it hit him. "Then there is a _willing_ Centauri who is assisting you in your efforts?"

Shiv'kala's returned the Emperor's burning gaze. "Not everyone requires a stick. There are some who see the fate of our people intertwined, as we do."

"If I find out who would defile the Republic with such treason . . . ."

At this, Shiv'kala laughed. "You made such an agreement yourself – with the Shadows."

"I did not know," Londo shook a fist at him. "I did not _know!"_

"You lie to yourself now, I see," Shiv'kala spat back. "Now, you will do _nothing_ ," Shiv'kala instructed him. "You will let the Alliance believe whatever they like. You can do little to stop them now, anyway."

"And what _exactly_ will they find?" Londo demanded.

"That two Centauri placed the bomb on Babylon 5 just after your diplomatic delegation boarded its flight."

"And did they?"

Shiv'kala shrugged. "It seems there was a Centauri festival being celebrated on the other side of the station. Conveniently, no Centauri will be among the fatalities."

"You treat my people as little more garbage, to be thrown away with your whims."

"On the contrary, I have kept your people from harm. You should thank me. And anyway, two Centauri are a small price for the safety of all the other Centauri who reside on Baylon 5. Besides, you have done the same to my people, by denying my people a homeworld when their own was dying." Londo began to protest that it had happened well before his time, but Shiv'kala put up a hand, "And as you did to the Shadows when you destroyed their fleet."

Londo clenched his fist, but wisely retreated without uttering another word.

* * *

That night, Timov observed Londo silently staring out the window, deep in thought.

"Ambassador Cotto is afraid you are angry with him," she said quietly. "He wondered whether you would reassign him to the mines."

Londo shook himself from his thoughts and snorted at the prospect of Vir in the mines. He turned toward Timov. "You should not have brought him here. Now I cannot send him back to Babylon 5 – they have closed the station to Centauri. And he will be hurt if I send him away. You have placed me in an impossible position."

"You do not believe in his abilities?"

Londo stared at Timov for a moment, "No, that isn't it at all. This place," he gestured toward the palace, "is not good for him." He sighed. "Vir does not know how to lie or deceive. The ministers will use him to their own ends, and I fear that it will end in ruin for him."

"Londo," Timov scoffed at him, "Vir survived _you_. That is all the training anyone needs in deception and guile. Besides, is there anyone better suited to act as your personal aide? You like him. You even _trust_ him."

Londo sat down, melancholy descending over his face. "I could not protect Carn, my own nephew. My brother's only child. I cannot bear such a thing again." He looked at Timov with tears welling in his eyes. "I cannot even attend Carn's funeral."

"What?" Timov asked. "But why?"

"Captain Durla tells me the intelligence reports are showing that Alliance members might take action – military action – against us. The royal cruisers could be targeted. The funeral party is next week, and there will not be a safe route to go to Ragesh III."

"But once you are in hyperspace . . . ."

"It has nothing to do with hyperspace. It has to do with coming _out_ of hyperspace. The area around Ragesh III is swarming with Narn, and Ambassador Talon is on the injured list on Babylon 5. If given the opportunity - and they will _find_ an opportuntity - the Narn will respond with blood. Not even G'Kar, himself, could hold them back."

"Then I will go on your behalf," Timov laid a hand on his arm.

"No," Londo shook his head. "If it is unsafe for me, it is unsafe for you as well."

"Then you will have the funeral party moved here, rather than on Ragesh III."

Londo again shook his head. "I spoke with Carn's wife already. She specifically asked to have it there – because he has lived there so long now, and his friends are there. I cannot break a promise that I have already made to her in his memory." Distress bent his features into a deep frown. "Carn did nothing wrong," he said quietly.

Timov regarded her husband with worry. The news of Carn's death had sent him into an even deeper depression lately, and her concern about who might be influencing him gripped her chest. "Do you know who killed him, Londo?" she asked.

"I might as well have done it myself," he said sadly. "He was killed because of my position." He stared at the ground. "And I fear for Vir in the same way." Finally he looked up, meeting Timov's gaze, "and others."

Timov gathered her dress and sat beside him. Taking his hands, she gripped them and earnestly looked at him. "Londo, Carn is gone. I loved him too, but you don't know who murdered him, you also don't know _why_ he was murdered. The investigation turned up nothing." She searched his face for any clues that he did, in fact, know who had murdered Carn, but his face belayed no secrets.

She sighed, burying the concern she had for Londo's well-being within her breast. "Vir wants to be here – by your side. You did not see his happiness when I asked him to come serve at the palace. You can easily secure his future with influence and power _here_. The gods know the Cottos have little in either realm. Your refusal will deny him the opportunity to serve at your side, and I asked him here because you need someone you can trust. There are few worthy of it within these walls."

"I know you are angry with me over this," she continued, "and perhaps I should have discussed such a crucial position with you rather than springing it upon you, but I . . . " she gathered herself, "I suppose I have been worried about you. The strain you have been under is evident, as are the vultures who inhabit the palace, always circling, looking for favors. I cannot unmake what has happened, but I also did not cause it, nor did Vir. You can either appoint him to a position at your side, or you continue to relegate him to positions where he will be used by others – just as you said - and he will believe you think him of little worth as you shunt him away."

"It appears I have little choice," Londo replied, "even in this matter."

That night, Londo touched her gently as he closed his eyes to sleep, and she knew his anger had faded, but although he soon drifted to sleep, she considered his words long after his chest rose and fell rhythmically with slumber.


	10. The Long Road Ahead

What seemed like mere minutes after Timov finally drifted off to sleep, she was awoken by noise outside her chambers, and she got up, careful not to wake Londo. Throwing on a robe, she stepped into the palatial hallway, and she encountered Plancho and Dunseny arguing with the guards who were unswayed by Plancho's cries, but as soon as the doorway opened, the guards snapped to attention.

"Oh, Majesty," Plancho took her arm and Dunseny gasped. Timov merely gazed at Plancho's fingers with an icy stare until he realized his mistake, quickly unwinding his fingers from her arm. "Apologies, Majesty. Please, I must see the Emperor."

"What is it?" she asked calmly.

"President Sheridan wishes to speak to the Emperor."

Timov's look of disapproval melted, and she nodded. "Yes, all right. You may tell President Sheridan that the Emperor will speak to him in a few moments. Dunseny - will you see Londo is appropriately attired to receive such a call?"

Dunseny inclined his head but did not move.

Timov looked at him strangely. One of Dunseny's primary tasks was to wake the Emperor, lay out the Emperor's clothes, and assist him in dressing, and he had dutifully served in this capacity since Londo had reached the age of his ascension, but in light of his elderly years, Londo had not asked him to accompany him to Babylon 5. When the Emperor had moved to the palace, the aging servant had accompanied him at his request, and Timov had assumed that Dunseny was still performing his usual tasks, for Londo neither dressed nor undressed anywhere but in his quarters.

Timov glanced at Dunseny with a raised eyebrow. It was entirely possible the man was starting to go senile at his advanced age, and she left him in the hallway, aware that seconds were ticking away, and that time would not help President Sheridan's mood.

Swiftly, she made her way through her quarters toward her bedchamber, darkness enveloping the room and Londo's sleeping figure. Since he had returned to her quarters, Londo had been sleeping on the wrong side of the bed, always sleeping on his right shoulder in what appeared to her to be a rather uncomfortable position, but she had barely thought twice about it. She crossed to the side of the bed on which he was sleeping. "Londo," she called out and reached out to wake him, but he rolled over tiredly, propping himself against the edge of the bed. "Is something wrong?" he asked drowsily.

"President Sheridan is waiting to speak with you, and Dunseny is waiting outside to ensure you . . . ." She waved a hand at his nightgown, ". . . can receive the call." She reached a hand forward to straighten out his gown which had strangely bunched around his shoulder, but in a flash, before she could touch it, Londo had stood, catching her wrist in a vice grip.

Timov gasped sharply. "Londo," she stared at him, "you're hurting me."

He looked as shocked as she did, and he immediately loosened his grip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . ."

"Go," she commanded him, but he turned toward her again.

"I've hurt my shoulder and . . . I was afraid that you would . . . ."

" _Go_ ," she said again, softer, and she watched him retreat toward his chambers. She turned up the lights and stared at her wrist, reddened where he had closed his iron grip. He had never done anything like that before, and she was left wondering what had happened to his shoulder to make his react so violently, and she considered whether there might be something to his night terrors after all.

Fearing she would be unable to sleep, she dressed, and she exited her quarters. As she turned into the hallway, she noticed Dunseny waiting patiently there.

"Dunseny," she asked, "Londo is already in his quarters. You will not join him?"

Dunseny shook his gray crest. "He does let me assist him in dressing anymore, Your Majesty. I adjust his medals and marks of station when he is ready."

"Well that doesn't sound like Londo at all," Timov said under her breath. "Has he forbidden you from entering his chambers?" she asked, suspiciously.

"No, Majesty. I am allowed to enter and lay out his clothing and retrieve his laundry. But he instructed that I should no longer assist him in other matters."

Timov regarded Dunseny for a moment, contemplating the bow of Dunseny's back and his advanced years. "Well," she said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, "you have earned more of a retirement than that, I expect."

The old man bowed deeply. "I am yet glad to be of service."

"And you are, Dunseny, you always have been a boon to House Mollari." Timov smiled at the old man's dedication. He had turned down a full retirement at House Mollari to serve at Londo's side in the palace, but his age was showing, and as much as he had dedicated his life to House Mollari, he also deserved time with his own grandchildren. Timov approved of Londo's decision to lessen the man's workload, but it was also odd that an emperor would not merely employ another servant to attend him.

Timov's thoughts were interrupted when Londo appeared striding down the hallway, having exited his quarters, as he stopped briefly in front of Dunseny with his arms open.

"Perfect, yes?"

Dunseny adjusted a few minor items and bowed his head. "As always, Majesty."

Londo patted him on the shoulder and disappeared toward the cabinet room, his guards trailing in his wake.

* * *

John Sheridan was fuming. When the figure of Londo appeared before him, Sheridan's jaws were clenched. Not even Delenn's calming presence nearby could contain his anger.

"Mr. President," Londo calmly faced Sheridan on the monitor, arms clasped behind him.

"Emperor Mollari," Sheridan could barely contain his fury.

"What can I do for you at . . . eh . . . 3 a.m.?"

"I am calling . . ." John tried to contain his rage, "to inform you that two Centauri have been arrested and charged with the terror attack on Babylon 5."

Londo's face was grim. "I see."

"Upon arrest," Sheridan continued, "they made a full confession. They were arraigned a short while ago. They pled guilty against the advice of their legal counsel and asked for immediate sentencing."

Londo narrowed his eyes, a shadow descending over his face.

Sheridan didn't pause, "I am giving you the courtesy of letting you know that their sentence will be carried out shortly."

"What is their sentence?" Londo asked, although he already could guess the answer.

"The death of personality," Sheridan said briskly. He paused, quelling the anger that was boiling over into his voice. "The evidence shows - and the Centauri admitted - that the plot was a state sanctioned attack." Sheridan could feel the blood throbbing in his veins, and he could no longer restrain himself. "Damn it, Londo, how could you do it? To the station you lived on for years? Have you seen the casualty reports? Hundreds - hundreds are dead or unaccounted for. People you knew. People who trusted you when you were an ambassador there."

Londo stared grimly at the Alliance President. "Mr. President . . . ."

Sheridan threw a hand up, "Don't 'Mr. President' me, Londo."

"Mr. President," Londo said again, more emphatically, "I can assure you that my government had nothing to do with the incident on Babylon 5." He seemed to pause a moment with gritted teeth as if expecting something, but after a moment, Londo carried on, "It was not authorized by my government, and I would ask . . . ."

"As I said," Sheridan set his jaw. "This is a courtesy communication. I'm not here to debate the facts with you. Our investigation is complete. In light of your government's ongoing support of terrorist activities, the Alliance will expand sanctions against the Centauri, its holdings, and its colonies. Sanctions will now include an expanded list of prohibited materials, and increased duty tariffs on all Centauri goods. In addition, as I am sure you know by now, Centauri diplomatic personnel are now declared _personna non grata_ on all Alliance stations and outposts. Any remaining Centauri diplomats will be expelled by the end of the week. The Alliance is actively weighing _all other options_."

Sheridan's last words froze Londo in place. "I am asking you, Mr. President, to do a deep telepathic scan of these men. It will verify our innocence in this matter . . . ."

Sheridan stared at the ceiling for a moment. "We both know this transmission is being recorded, and I'm sure you will have it on your news networks before the morning commute to show your protests and your innocence, but you know full well that we cannot violate the defendants' rights by doing a deep scan."

Sheridan took a deep breath before he continued, "I hope you know what you are doing, Londo, because it is going to start another war - a war that will be costly for everyone." Sheridan motioned for the signal to be cut, and he stared at the screen, shaking his head.

Delenn stepped out of the shadows toward Sheridan, "John, I can't fathom Londo ordering such a thing. Do you think it is possible that he might be telling the truth?"

"It's Londo," Sheridan shook his head, "I'm not sure he knows when he is telling the truth anymore. Anyway, there are two separate confessions. All the Centauri on the station were conveniently called away to a festival before the bombing, and, most strikingly, he sent his own transport vessel to Babylon 5 to escort his diplomatic staff off the station just before the explosion. I don't see how it can get any clearer than that."

"When he visited us last year," Delenn thought back to the gift Londo had given them in honor of their son and the warm conversation that had followed, as if they had been transported back to the station years before, "I would not have thought it possible that he could do such a thing."

Sheridan looked at Delenn with frustration, "I wouldn't have thought it either - but I think we have to face the fact that the Londo we knew is dead. Or perhaps we never really knew him at all." Sheridan grabbed his papers and turned to talk to his staff who were waiting with updated reports.

Delenn folded her hands, glancing back at the monitor from where Londo's image had disappeared, and her heart ached at the events that had brought them to such a rift. They were deep blows, both politically and personally, and she grieved for the loss of the lives on the station, as she grieved for the loss of a friend.

* * *

Sheridan's image blinked out, and Londo waited where he stood, lost in thought for a moment. The room had remained hushed, but at last he turned and instructed, "Convene the War Council."

Minister Wesa turned on his heel, snapping orders to Plancho and the other aides to open the War Council chambers and to locate and retrieve the Lord High Admiral and the Lord High General for the meeting as soon as possible.

Londo directed a few staff with orders, and he made his way to the door. Timov had been watching the proceedings aghast, and she put a hand on his elbow. "Londo," she said quietly to him, "you can't seriously be thinking of using military force at a time like this?"

Londo turned toward her grimly. "The Alliance is going to strike us in the coming days in retaliation for the bombing. President Sheridan made his intention to strike clear."

Vir had watched the exchange with wide eyes. "But, Londo, if you put our forces on alert, it will appear as if we are guilty to the Alliance."

Londo nodded, "Yes, Vir, but they have already judged our guilt, and there is nothing more we can do about that now - once the death of personality is complete, we will have no ability to prove our innocence. And if we are not prepared for retaliatory strikes, more of our people will needlessly die." He motioned toward Timov. "It is late. See Timov back to her quarters for me before the War Council meets."

As Timov began to protest, Londo turned toward her, "This is no place for you right now." At that, he left Vir and her guards to escort Timov to her quarters as he turned back to the preparations being made for the early hours meeting.

* * *

There were no less than four strikes on targets in the next 24 hours, all of them on Centauri military outposts. The Centauri held their own, although they suffered a number of casualties. The next morning, Londo addressed the Centauri public in an emergency address, forcibly arguing that the Centauri were innocent in the explosion on Babylon 5 and decrying the inability of the Centauri to prove their case under the IA's rules, and the people responded, voicing their support for Centauri isolationism in light of the continuing unjust treatment at the hands of the IA.

The death of personality was swiftly carried out for the two Centauri prisoners, a deep scan having been ruled out by courts as being against their rights, but protests swept the Centauri Republic against the IA. Although all young Centauri men of commoner or noble status served in the national armed forces for at least four years, the next days and weeks saw a marked increase in the re-enrollment of soldiers or the voluntary extension of their subscription agreements, and the Centaurum lowered the minimum age to enlist. The ranks of the Centauri Republic's military machine swelled with nationalistic pride, and the Centaurum transferred wartime power to the Emperor, allowing him to bypass their supermajority veto if he declared a wartime emergency.

* * *

In the next cabinet meeting, Minister Palazzo announced the newly revealed list of enhanced tariffs and increased sanctions. "The IA claims the new list of sanctions only has illicit drugs and weapons grade compounds on it."

Timov glanced from Palazzo to the extensive list before her, pages of newly embargoed items intended to crush the Centauri's growing military aspirations and as vengeance for the Babylon 5 explosion. Her breath caught as she saw one in particular. She thought of the diminishing liquid in the vial safely tucked away in her vanity, and trepidation seized her hearts.

"But," Palazzo gestured wildly, "The economic sanctions announced by the IA," he rose, flapping a list in the air, "includes several compounds required in MEDICINE!"

The cabinet ministers angrily banged on the table to Timov's chagrin, and she raised her gavel, but they quieted themselves at her gesture.

"You have the list before you," Minister Palazzo interrupted the chorus of condemnation. "And many of the synthetic compounds are used in military applications. We have two separate problems - one of the supply of natural resources used in these compounds and one of brainpower needed to reproduce the synthetic combinations. We will need to find alternative supplies and fund our scientific academies if our military is to survive these sanctions."

"Prepare a list of any mines we may need to reopen as a result," Londo said grimly, "and a list of suppliers. You will provide me with all available options - such as black market suppliers, vulnerable outposts or planets, or uninhabited worlds that we may use to find the raw materials. "We will," he motioned to Palazzo, "find money in the Treasury for our scientific labs to ensure we can create the needed compounds."

"I would suggest eliminating the civil services and social security programs offered to underperforming Centauri, and a redirection of the funds to more . . . urgent matters. Everyone will need to pull their weight if we are to survive the onslaught by the IA," Palazzo responded.

Londo's brow darkened, and he said nothing for a moment, but finally he grumbled, "I will take it under advisement. You will prepare a list of all available options."

Palazzo bowed in acquiescence, and straightened again, "There is the small matter of copyright on a number of the synthetic compounds," he stated. "The Ministry of Agriculture and Economy would suggest that in light of our new circumstances, the Centauri Republic rescind any multi-lateral agreements concerning these compounds, terminating our international obligations with respect to any claimed copyrights."

"Prepare the order," Londo instructed decisively. "And use our contacts, wherever they might be located, to uncover any proprietary trade secrets we may need to reproduce the synthetic compounds."

Timov waited to ensure Londo was done before she turned back to the cabinet, "The chair recognizes Minister Wesa."

"Majesty," Wesa rose with a nod. "Two additional matters for your awareness. There have been growing incidents across Centauri Prime, our colonial holdings, and outposts involving aliens."

Everyone was aware of the increasingly troubling incidents which had found aliens gruesomely killed by Centauri, angry at the IA's treatment of their country. Vigilantes had erected makeshift pikes with alien heads on them, leaving them in the countryside as a warning to other aliens.

"After extensive consultation with the other ministers and our aides," Wesa continued, "we would suggest deporting all aliens from Centauri holdings." Wesa rocked back, awaiting the Emperor's response. "For their safety, of course," he added.

Timov glanced at Minister Palazzo, the xenophobic minister was heartily signaling his approval, no doubt the mastermind behind such a suggestion.

"Yes," Londo sighed, "for their safety." He rubbed his weary eyes before looking up with a nod, "This issue is a complicated one, for we have a number of races within our jurisdiction."

Timov held her breath, confident her husband would not capitulate to the wave of xenophobia gripping the country.

"But in light of the IA's actions, I fear this sentiment will grow," Londo continued. "All aliens will leave Centauri holdings with the exception of those who have been granted legal status within the Centauri Republic by contract or by citizenship. There will be a two week amnesty period to allow any remaining aliens free passage to space outside our borders."

"Majesty," Palazzo jumped to his feet. "How will we __know__ that an alien has a __valid__ legal status? Our internal forces must know who they may arrest and deport and who may stay. How will we know a valid slave from a illegal alien? I suggest it would simply be easier if all aliens were deported immediately, forfeiting their holdings in Centauri space . . . ."

Londo's face hardened, "Then they will carry their papers or a mark denoting their status upon them. And those that __do__ carry such papers or such a mark will be protected by the full weight of the Centauri military. If," he turned to Wesa, "any further murders of citizen or slave aliens within our boundaries occur, you will give orders to our to pursue the perpetrators to the fullest extent of the law."

Timov noticed Vir's face had drained of color as he stared at Londo, his mouth hanging open at the Emperor's orders ousting aliens. His mouth snapped shut as he seemed to realize his face was telegraphing his every thought, and he met the Empress's eye for a moment, shock evident in his face.

Palazzo frowned, but he acquiesced before making one last suggestion. "The threat of execution of these . . . illegal aliens, Majesty, is much more likely to see immediate action from them than the threat of mere deportation. I personally have spoken with a majority of the members of the Centaurum, and they have indicated their preference for execution." He paused, the hint of a smile curling the edge of his lips. "They would not wish to openly challenge Your Majesty on this point, but they have indicated it is important enough that they would do so with a supermajority vote. In light of this, it would prudent to announce a policy in line with their wishes, rather than the political spectacle such a disagreement with the Centaurum would cause."

Londo did not move, but he stared at Palazzo, his jaw clenched. "On pain of execution then," his voice was strained, and Palazzo again nodded his acquiescence.

Wesa turned to Timov, patiently awaited her approval to proceed to the next issue. Receiving it, Wesa said, "Lastly, Majesty, a virulent disease has been detected on Earth. The humans have already moved to place the entire system under quarantine. Our intelligence reports suggest that the Drakh, one of the former Shadow allies, is behind the plague. Earth is extending the quarantine to all infected or potentially infected areas. We would suggest complying with the quarantine. Our forces believe the plague quite resilient and quite deadly."

Timov glanced at Londo, and she could see the shock on his face. ""Eh," he regained himself, "send out the prohibited coordinates to our ships. For now, we will comply with the quarantine."

"The humans have asked," Wesa gestured toward the display of earth rotating on the cabinet chambers' monitor, "that we send any available information that may assist them with a cure."

Timov again turned to Londo for his decision, and he did not respond for an extended period of time.

"Send them nothing," he said quietly, at last.

Timov saw Vir sharply inhale from where he was standing near the door, his face still aghast, but Londo's continuing words caught her attention.

"The humans deny our people medicine," Londo grimly pointed to the new sanctions, "then they shall reap the same reward from us."


	11. These Things Yet Unspoken

When the time expired for offworlders to leave Centauri holdings, the reports of lynchings and extremist violence increased, rather than dissipating. Wesa's Ministry of Defense seemed disinclined to pursue the matter very far, however, since it was otherwise occupied on several fronts, and Wesa conveniently glossed over the lynchings in his weekly reports, underreporting the amount of aliens unlawfully killed specifically because it would highlight the Ministry of Defense's inability to extradite the offworlders before the deadline expired. Although he assured the Emperor that the Ministry was searching for the guilty parties, in truth, the Ministry was allowing vigilantes to inflict the new execution law without trial or judgment as a time-saving measure.

* * *

In the late evenings, Londo would stare desolately at the stacks of reports on his desk, and Vir noticed the vacant look of deep thought upon his face. Hunched slightly, Vir quietly entered Londo's office, gathering the papers the Emperor had signed for the ministries. Vir had been aghast at Londo's orders on the expulsion and execution of aliens, the abrogation of international law, and his cold words withholding assistance for the humans on the Drakh plague. He had seen Londo do dark things before, but this seemed too far for even Londo, and Vir could barely stomach watching Londo allow such things. His behavior was bordering on actions Vir would have sooner attributed to Cartagia than Londo, and there was nothing Vir could do but watch. Londo's actions made Vir both desperately unhappy and deeply angry. He found hope only in those late nights, when Londo would stare wordlessly out the window or into the stack of papers on his desk, as if he recognized the depravity of his actions and he solemnly considered their repercussions. Yet nothing changed, and each morning brought new orders from Londo reaffirming the trajectory of his reign would be closer to Cartagia than Turhan.

This ritual was repeated every night, endlessly, until finally, one evening, Londo's voice stopped Vir in his tracks.

"Vir," Londo waved him over.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Vir turned slowly, a stack of correspondence in his hands.

At the salutation, Londo snorted as he took the official Centauri Republic seal from around his neck and deposited it on his desk. "Have a drink with me, Vir. Not with the Emperor – with me, your friend."

"Uh," Vir stammered, not meeting Londo's eyes.

Londo buzzed Dunseny who arrived within moments, bearing two drinks on a serving platter, clearly instructed in advance by Londo.

"Here," Londo took the drinks and offered one to Vir, and Dunseny disappeared again.

"I – I don't know if you remember, Londo, but I don't really drink. I – I don't enjoy it."

"Take it," Londo delivered a pinkish drink into Vir's hand. "It's your favorite – a Shirley Temple, eh? I haven't forgotten."

Londo watched Vir avoid his eyes for a few moments before he added. "I can't force you to drink with me."

Vir looked at the ground. "Actually," he mumbled, "you __can__ force me. I guess that is one perk of being emperor," Vir offered a weak laugh.

Londo's shoulders sagged and his brow furrowed. "I just wanted to enjoy a drink with you, Vir, like the old days on the station." He patted Vir's shoulder with feigned energy. "But ehm," Londo's eyes fell as he eyed his brivari, "if you must attend to your duties, then . . . " he waved Vir away.

Cotto felt the conflict within his chest. Londo's recent behavior had been wretched, but Vir saw Londo's naked sadness stretching into the silence between them, and Vir remembered what it had been like on the station, how Londo had needed him, how he had acted as Londo's conscience when Londo most needed it. Vir buried the anger and frustration created in his short time at the palace, seeing once again the pain so clearly evident on his friend's face.

Vir offered a weak smile and took a chair nearby, sipping his Shirley Temple as he watched Londo closely.

Londo also nursed his drink slowly, a mantle of melancholy descending over his shoulders. Silence stretched on until Londo quietly said, "I miss it - the station."

The mention of the station made all Vir's questions tumble out at once. "Why didn't you try harder?" He turned to Londo earnestly. "Why didn't you __do something__ \- to convince Sheridan? Surely there was more to be done to show him that we didn't have anything to do with the bombing on Babylon 5?"

"You must pick your battles, Vir. The ones you can win," Londo said quietly. "We had no chance of convincing them. Only of protecting ourselves."

"Then the order on aliens . . . ."

"Was necessary," Londo cut him off sharply. "I have done what I can to ensure the safety of aliens living here legally. As long as they have valid slave papers, they will be spared execution and returned to their owner. "Speaking of which, I have a matter of urgent business that I yet need you to do for me.""

"But Londo," Vir's voice grew stronger, "I want to talk to you about . . . ."

"It will have to wait," Londo replied, cutting off Vir's protest.

Finally, Vir fell silent, anger and frustration burning in his chest.

"As I was saying," Londo continued, "I have decided that I need a personal representative to monitor the order on aliens - to oversee the Ministry of Defense's progress on such matters."

" _ _Progress__?" Vir's eyes grew wide, and his chest heaved at Londo's actions. Of all things, for Londo to ask him to be his liaison to oversee the pogrom to round up and kill aliens - it was too much for Vir to stomach. But just as Vir had mustered up the courage to tell Londo what he thought, Londo silenced him with his words.

"You are the only one I trust to do it, Vir. Now," he said, before Vir could break in, "on a different matter, I need you to take down a letter for me."

"Londo, I just . . . ."

"The __letter__ ," Londo growled, his tone dangerously menacing.

Vir's mouth snapped shut, and he felt sick inside. He put a hand on his chest, trying not to lose the contents of his stomach over what Londo was allowing to be done to innocent aliens and what he was now ordering him to oversee. But as Vir touched his chest, he noticed the dangerous look in Londo's eye, and he gulped, picking up a notepad. His eyes were tearing, but he pushed away the tears with his anger at Londo's actions, once more so inhumane. __He would change his mind__ , Vir thought, __he just had to.__

"It has been some time," Londo dictated, motioning to Vir to take down the letter, "since your esteemed work abroad, but I have kept it in my mind these many years, and I am asking you to act, now, on behalf of the Centauri Republic."

Vir scribbled madly, trying to keep up with the pace of Londo's dictation.

"Your work is of a delicate sort," Londo continued, "and it calls for the utmost discretion. Unfortunately, it is unlikely that I can find the funds to support your work because of the important needs of the Republic in this, our time of great need. We have a great many enemies, and I must direct the Treasury's spending in regards to our most pressing matters, but we must never forget that which breathes life into the things we hold most dear, such as our heritage and our traditions. Therefore, you will forgive the lack of an official royal commission in this matter, but you will know that I am asking, as a personal favor, for you to continue the work you gave up so many years ago." Londo nodded, as if to himself. "There," he turned to Vir, "do you have it?"

Vir was still choking back his emotion, but he managed to nod once and ask, "And the recipient?"

"Eh," Londo pointed toward the top of the letter. "Abraham Lincolni. I'm sure you can find his address if you search the files. He hasn't been seen for some years, and I suspect he is living off world."

Vir took in a sharp breath. "But Londo, I . . . ."

"Vir," Londo cut him off sharply once again, "It is an important letter. See that it is sent at once. Or do you wish to stand here and argue with me when there is work to be done?"

Vir opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to comprehend what Londo was doing.

"I'll be sure Mr. Lincolni gets it," Vir mumbled at last, folding the letter and tucking it in his pocket. He stole once last glance at Londo, whose arms were clasped behind his back, a stern expression on his face.

Vir's footsteps echoed in the empty palace hallway as he made his way back to his quarters, and he fingered the note. He knew exactly what Londo meant and exactly what Londo wanted, but __why__ he had chosen such an odd way to relay his message and __why__ he did not want to speak of it openly concerned Vir deeply. He wondered if Londo's office had been bugged, and if so, why Londo hadn't simply ordered it cleaned by his security forces. It was all very strange and very troubling, but with the ongoing tensions with the other worlds, perhaps Londo knew something he didn't. Vir made his way back to his quarters, trouble dogging his every step.

* * *

"Minister Wesa," Londo waved the robust Minister of Defense into his office. "What do you need at this late hour?"

"A delicate matter, Your Majesty," Wesa arranged himself in one of the chairs facing Londo. "One of my many duties is to receive reports of security threats against the Crown."

Londo grunted, "I am sure there are many."

"Yes, there are always a dozen or so active investigations into threats and the like, but . . . I have stumbled onto something more personal." Wesa watched the Emperor's interest perk up slightly.

"What do you mean, 'personal?'" Londo asked.

"Every month, the same day, same hour, in the waning moon of Trias, the Empress departs from the palace grounds, and she leaves a majority of her security contingent here, at the palace, and her excursions are not marked in her official calendar. For your safety, Your Majesty, I would request that I be allowed to investigate these occurrences in the event that they may pose some threat. They are, at the very least, out of the ordinary."

Londo narrowed his eyes, his voice hardening. "You have been spying on my wife?"

"A part of the job," Wesa smiled. "For your protection, of course. I would be remiss if I did not investigate __all__ security threats. You are familiar with the story of Empress Sandolina?"

Londo pointed a finger at Wesa. "Three centuries have passed since Empress Sandolina's actions, and I am perfectly capable of handling my wife. You, on the other hand, have exceeded your authority. You have no authorization to pursue surveillance of my wife's activities. Now go, before you find yourself in need of employment."

Wesa drew back, "But Majesty, I thought you would want to know . . . ."

"Go," Londo's voice was strained, his anger beginning to vent.

Wesa stood, bowing. "As you wish." He departed abruptly, leaving the Emperor to his thoughts.

Londo stared after the door for some time before he buzzed Emanio. "Get me Phylakios, at once."

* * *

Phylakios saluted the Emperor briskly, remembering how poorly his last meeting with the Emperor had gone. He waited stiffly, eyes at attention, his hand resting on his ceremonial coutari.

"Phylakios," Londo stood, circling his desk slowly. "'Every month, in the waning moon of Trias, my wife ignores the security requirements of her office, taking only a few trusted individuals with her."

Phylakios blinked, nodding once to acknowledge the Emperor's words.

"And you," Londo waved at him, "are in charge of her security. It is a breach in protocol, is it not?"

Phylakios cleared his throat, "Ehm, no, Majesty, the Empress has authorized it, and in my opinion, the security arrangements are adequate for the requirements of the excursions. She has all the security needed for such ventures."

"Ohhhh," Londo nodded with feigned approval, "I see. And," he paused, "am I to believe that this little monthly getaway will cause me no embarrassment?"

Phylakios glanced at the Emperor before returning his eyes to the wall, "I cannot say whether such a thing would cause Your Majesty embarrassment."

"Then I will be the judge of that," Londo watched the soldier carefully. "Where is it she goes, Phylakios, with you by her side, hmm?"

Phylakios swallowed hard. "You have given me my command of Her Majesty's safety, Your Majesty, and I intend to fulfill it. I cannot betray Her Majesty's confidence, even to you. It would be a violation of my duty both to you and to her."

Londo waved him toward the door without another glance. "I thought as much," he growled. As Phylakios' footsteps departed, Londo tapped his fingers on his desk before buzzing Emanio again. "Have Illyia, my wife's chief of staff, report to me at once."

* * *

Illyia stood nervously fidgeting before the Emperor. Whereas once she had addressed him in her mistress's unguarded tone, Illyia knew better than to repeat the performance now that the man had become Emperor of the entire Republic.

"Every month," he began again, "in the waning moon of Trias, my wife departs these grounds, and you have conveniently left her appointments out of her official calendar. I would know why."

Illyia caught her breath, "Her Majesty did not wish it noted there," she offered, hoping the Emperor would not pursue the matter further.

"Do you know," Londo gestured toward the palace hallways, "that the Minister of Defense, himself, was in here not less than an hour ago telling me that it was a threat to national security? Tell me the details of these appointments."

"I do not think," Illyia gulped, "Her Majesty wishes __you__ to know _ _."__

Londo stared at Illyia, anger beginning to drip from his words. "I am sure I can __guess__ where it is that she goes and with whom, but if you wish to spare her the humiliation of a public inquiry, you __will__ tell me now."

Illyia's eyes dropped to the floor, and she told him, her words barely a whisper. "Her Majesty is ill," Illyia said. "She reports to her doctor each month, and she did not wish the matter to become public. Her medicine is refilled at these appointments. You will find it in her vanity. Beyond that, I do not know the particulars, as she keeps the matter even from me."

Londo's anger had drained away, shock evident on his face. When he found his voice again, he said merely, "For now, we will keep this matter between us," and he waived her out.

Londo retrieved his glass, contemplating the wall for an hour as his brivari slowly disappeared. But finally, he pushed himself out of his chair, walking the long hallways to his wife's quarters. As he expected, she was not there, for she had other events on her evening calendar that night, and he entered her bath, opening the vanity. A brief search turned up an empty vial for a potent and addictive opioid, one of a handful of serious, addictive narcotics carefully controlled under the supervision of a physician. The narcotic had a reputation as the drug of choice for the elite who could get their hands on a doctor's prescription, but Londo had known his wife for many years, and it seemed quite out of character for her indulge in sensory altering substances, so he was left with only one conclusion - that Illyia had not been lying, and his wife was suffering from a serious illness. He turned the vial over in his fingers, pondering it before he returned it to its place in the cabinet.


	12. The Sweet and the Sour

Vir heard his name called from Londo's inner office, and he hurried in, finding the Emperor in a serious mood.

"I need you to arrange something for me," Londo handed him a note scribbled with instructions. "It is a private matter. You will carry it out with the utmost discretion."

Vir glanced over the note, his facing paling. "I - I didn't know she was ill. It will take some time to arrange for a supply of dexycylodox. It is one of the synthetic drugs prevented from import by the blockade, and it is almost impossible to find now, even on the black market. Should I keep her updated on what I find?

"No. She does not know that I know, and we will keep it that way for now."

"But how -".

"It is the way of our marriage, Vir."

"Call me crazy," Vir threw up his hands, "but wouldn't it just be easier to have a conversation with her?"

Londo grunted, "It would be a strange thing to change all of our habits after all of these years."

Vir studied his boss's face, perceiving the hurt Londo felt from Timov's attempt to keep her illness from him.

"Londo," Vir offered, "I don't think she would hide such a thing from you out of spite. She is far too practical for that. She has a reason – however misguided it might be. Nothing will be solved by leaving her illness in the shadows any longer."

Londo considered this at length before he acknowledged Vir's wisdom. "Perhaps you are right. A conversation is overdue. In the meantime," he pointed again to the note. "See that it is done."

* * *

The palace traditionally hosted the banquet in honor of Hypathia, the goddess of bounty, fertility, and wisdom, and it was a moment of light-heartedness in a darkening time for the Centauri. The event was one of the country's most important occasions, for the banquet opened Hypathia's weeklong festival, inviting the god's blessings for the coming seasons, and its proceedings were one of the rare broadcasts from the palace to Centauri Prime as local cities awaited the official opening of the festival to commence their own festivities. This year, it coincided with the waning moon of Trias on a date and hour coincidentally familiar to the Emperor from his recent investigations into his wife's activities.

Londo was already in the grand banquet hall, positioned at the head table with Hypathia's high priests, chatting amicably with nobles from the Centaurum as the crowd awaited the opening festivities. Senna Refa had returned to the palace for the occasion, and as she mounted the dais holding the head table, one of the few young noblewomen from her school also in attendance called out her name. "Senna," her classmate grasped her arm, pulling her from the elevated dais, "the Emperor has not yet graced our school with his presence. Do you think perhaps you could convince him to come?"

Senna glanced at the figure of guardian, and she cast her eyes downward. "He is very busy, and he has never shown an interest in seeing the school."

The young noble's shoulders sagged, "Everyone will be disappointed. We had all hoped he would come to the rising ceremony for the students. We thought especially because you are his ward that he would come."

Senna blinked, "Perhaps the Empress will come," she replied, but she was interrupted by a booming voice behind her.

"The Empress is not even on time for Hypathia's ceremony," the Emperor laid a congenial hand on each young woman's shoulder. "Now I hate to interrupt your discussion, but I must borrow my young lady. Her royal duties as a member of my House await her, especially in light of the tardiness of my wife - a woman, I would add, that takes it upon herself to be meticulously on time on every occasion except the one time I need her to beseech the gods on my behalf." Londo beckoned Senna toward the head table.

Senna waved goodbye to her classmate as she followed the Emperor's commanding strides.

Senna had dinner with the Emperor and the Empress in the private dining room regularly, and they would inquire as to her studies and her activities, and she had even, against her better judgment, come to enjoy these evenings, for they gave her a sense of place and family, though a part of her heart was still firmly hardened against the man who had killed her father. Nevertheless, Senna could not help but enjoy the Emperor's penchant for storytelling. His warm affection for her was evident, but it was the Empress who was in constant communication with the school and her teachers about her periodically faltering grades, security arrangements for her excursions with her classmates, and other day-to-day matters.

Senna watched the Emperor motioned to a familiar face - the young figure of Traco Jaddo - his mothers nearby.

"There he is!" Londo exclaimed. "Come, Traco, I need you to do me a favor."

The young boy listened intently for a moment as the Emperor spoke to him, and Traco approached the center of the banquet stage, thrusting his hands out in a gesture for the crowd to quiet. The crowd's din melted away before the seven-year-old's commands. Traco announced that the Emperor was inviting the noblewomen in attendance to join him at the table of honor, and Londo chuckled as the child forgot to add that the gesture was in deference to the goddess, but it made no matter anyway, because the women were moving swiftly toward his table, smiles abounding as they waved to the gentlemen relegated to the back walls of the banquet hall.

As the announcement was being made, Senna noticed Londo was delighted with the crowd's response, but he seemed distracted, and he was scanning the wings, apparently for his wife. Soon the noblewomen had been seated near his table, and the minutes continued to tick away. Londo strolled to the nearby priests, having a brief conversation with them before he returned to Senna's side, throwing an arm around her shoulders as he leaned in to whisper to her. "You must do it, Senna," he waved toward the crowd. "They have waited long enough, and Timov is yet absent."

Senna's eyes grew wider, "Open the festival?"

"Yes, of course," he replied with a smile. 'It is a great honor, and it will surely bring us Hypathia's blessings, if you ask for them."

"But . . . the ceremony is televised to the whole nation," she protested, growing pale.

"The priests will guide you through it," Londo encouraged her. "Besides, if I do it, we will have terrible luck. Hypathia has never fancied me as a suitor, so now I must send others in my place; others who the goddess is more likely to listen to," he chuckled.

Senna's hands twisted nervously, but a priest appeared next to her, explaining the short prayer and offerings, and within a few minutes, the crowd had settled, and Senna recited the blessings without faltering. As she continued, she noticed the familiar figure of the Empress appear at last, but the Empress contented herself with watching the ceremony from one of the wings.

As Senna's incantations finished and she declared the festival open, the guests rose in unison with the Emperor to heartily applaud, and the banquet hall fell into merriment and festivities, a brief respite from the interstellar struggles engulfing the Republic outside the palace.

"You did a splendid job," Timov congratulated Senna as she arrived to the head table. "Better than I could have done. You will be the toast of Centauri Prime tonight."

"Oh," Senna blushed, placing a hand on her breast, "I was so nervous that I was shaking - at least on the inside! But I guess I made it through without making too much of a mess of it. I only hope Hypathia will listen to our prayers."

Timov took her ward's arm. "I am sure that she will. Your family was always a favorite of the gods - wasn't your great grandfather a High Priest of Trias?"

Senna blinked, "Why, yes. To tell the truth, he bought the position, but because of him, my family was always diligent about honoring the gods. He installed a large chapel on the south lawn of our house, and one of the things I miss the most is the peace and tranquility I found in that chapel."

"We shall have to do something about that," Timov smiled. "A small addition to the school to honor the gods? So that they may hear prayers for exams?"

Senna laughed, "They haven't heard my prayers so far." She scanned the room, finding the Emperor's white across the room as his animated gestures indicated he was thoroughly enjoying mingling with his guests. "The Emperor seems in good spirits," she said, pointing toward him.

Timov hmphed, noticing the entirety of the banquet hall's women were seated around the head table. "He is thoroughly pleased with himself, I'm sure. The nobles who brought their wives are displeased, thinking Londo might decide to entertain himself with their wives tonight, and the ones who didn't bring their wives even more so, since they have been shunted to the back of the room with no possibility of bending his ear, even if it is via one of their wives."

Timov turned back toward Senna, "Now as to you, young lady, I have heard rumors that several young men would like ask your hand to the Rising Ball."

"Oh," Senna blushed. "It is not important."

"Nonsense," Timov dismissed the comment abruptly. "Even if you decide against attending the Rising Ball on the arm of a suitor, every girl likes to be asked. And," Timov observed shrewdly, "they cannot ask you without seeking permission from Londo. And Londo lives behind a gated wall with a gaggle of armed guards. It poses a problem for your social life, I suspect."

Senna cast her eyes at the floor silently.

"As I thought," Timov pursed her lips. "I shall speak to him, although it does pose a bit of a challenge. He is up to his crest in meetings, negotiations, and ceremonies, day in and day out, and I'm not sure we can squeeze another minute from his schedule, but I can't imagine he would wish to prevent you from a date at the Rising Ball."

Senna took Timov's hands, "Thank you," she said. "I would not halt the government for such a thing, but your thoughtfulness means the world to me." Senna allowed herself a smile, feeling relieved that she had not let the palace and the country down when called upon. She considered that her favorite classes in school were related to politics and public speaking, classes usually restricted from women's studies, but somehow the Empress had worked them into the curriculum. They were, Senna thought, already coming in handy.

* * *

A few nights later, Timov retired to the palace's expansive bath, a headache having overtaken her. She dismissed her attendants, preferring the silence of the softly illuminated darkness. Silverstars twinkled in the water, their perfumed smell filled the small pools creating the private baths, and for the first time in weeks, her body felt better. The old pain had returned after her dexycylodox had run out, and her private physician had been unable to locate any more on the black market because of the Alliance's blockade. She could feel her body slowing down, the pain seeping through every nerve, but the soft sound of the water and the smell of the silverstars soothed her tired mind and her aching body. She remained there for some time before the sound of footfalls opened her eyes again, and she made out the figure of her husband on the far side of the room.

"I thought you had a War Council meeting this evening?" she addressed him.

"It ended early, and I thought I would check in on you."

Timov watched him linger by the door. Londo had always enjoyed the public baths and the baths at House Mollari, usually with a bottle of brivari, disregarding all health warnings about mixing high temperatures and alcohol. He had never been shy about crashing her private bath time, and she wondered what was preventing him from joining her with his usual boisterousness.

At last, Londo crossed the long entrance to the small pool where Timov was bathing, and he sat on the edge of the pool where she lounged.

Timov waited a moment before she asked, "Are you are waiting for an invitation? You normally join me even without one."

Londo grunted but did not move.

"That is unlike you," she shrugged.

"You were late to the festivities the other night," he said at last.

"I was unexpectedly delayed," Timov said. "Fortunately, Senna was thrilled to be asked to recite the incantation. She has a spiritual soul, you know, and the gods seemed pleased with her requests. And Traco - he was a natural in front of the crowd. His mothers were chattering about it all night." Seeing Londo's stern expression, she said, "You wish to discuss something? You have me at a bit of a disadvantage." She gestured toward the baths.

Londo said nothing for several minutes, but at long last, he said, "You have been keeping something from me."

"Oh? Have you been spying on me?" Timov arched an eyebrow.

"Of course i have," he said, his face darkening. "That is the only way I find out anything of use around here. Now," he instructed, "show me your arm."

Timov blinked, but extended her left arm, her lips pursed in disapproval. "I have had it for some time," she said. "Are you looking to exchange it for something better?"

Londo did not reply. "Show me your arm," he repeated, his voice firmer.

"There it is," Timov shook it at him facetiously.

"The _other_ arm," he demanded.

Timov glanced away as she extended her other arm.

Londo gently took her arm and turned it until he saw the telltale spots of repeated injections in the dim light.

"Satisfied?" she asked.

"You are having withdrawal symptoms," Londo said matter-of-factly. "I have noticed them over the past few weeks."

"I see you've been poking around in my medicine cabinet. I can assure you, it is my own problem. The same problem bored nobles have all over this planet. I suppose I will have to find something else to pass the time," she sighed.

"Timov," Londo interrupted her.

"But there are other ways of . . . ."

"Timov," Londo cut her off firmly. "I _know_."

Timov's mouth snapped shut, and her chin lifted defiantly.

"I _know_ ," Londo continued, "that this is no mere addiction. I _know_ that you have been diagnosed with Lake's Syndrome. And I _know_ this is how you have been treating the pain."

Timov did not return his gaze. "How did you find out?" she asked quietly.

Still holding her arm, Londo replied, "We all have our little secrets, yes? Anyway, it does not matter how I came to know. Why did you not tell me?"

Timov still could not look him in the eye. "I found out while you were still on Babylon 5. You were . . . preoccupied with that slave girl. I didn't think you would care. And now, you have so much on your shoulders. I did not want to add to the burden."

"You would be surprised by what is on my shoulders," Londo said, an odd tone in his voice. "And anyway, I do care for you, Timov, even if it is not returned."

Timov glanced sharply at him. "What do you mean?"

"You told me," he struggled with his words, "when I choose you to remain with me rather than Daggair or Mariel that you would never love me."

"You are blind," Timov said softly.

"Blind?" Londo snorted. "I know you are in love with the captain of your guards."

Timov laughed but stopped when she saw the seriousness in his face. "What would give you that impression?"

"You have been sending money to pay for him for years. It is all in your accounts. And then you name him as your personal guard. What other explanation is there?"

Timov sighed, "One you will not like."

Londo furrowed his brow, "What do you mean?"

Timov returned his gaze calmly. "He is a slave, Londo. His salary comes to me, and out of it, I pay for his requirements."

Londo drew back, his tone edging toward anger. "A slave? I instructed you to divest House Mollari of its slaves after my own unpleasant experience with a slave owner's deviousness."

"I am aware of that. House Mollari does not hold his contract."

Londo narrowed his eyes, "Who holds his contract?"

"I do," Timov replied quietly. "Under the auspices of House Algul."

Londo released her arm, his face reddening. "You disobeyed my direct orders?"

"It was either disobey you or disobey my uncle's last wishes. He bequeathed Phylakios in his will to me. Phylakios earned more than enough to buy himself out of his contract some time ago - quite a feat considering his family has been paying off their debts for three generations, but Phylakios convinced my uncle to loan him the money to buy his pregnant wife out of her contract so that his child might be born free, and the price was added onto his own. My uncle feared Phylakios would fall into unjust circumstances after his death, and he asked me to oversee the contract after his death. It was a gentleman's agreement, and as much as I detested the idea, my uncle's wishes were clear. How could I act against his final instructions? That is why I couldn't tell you - I knew you wouldn't wait long enough for me to explain before you lost your temper over the whole matter."

"You," Londo's face reddened, his voice rising. " _You_ own a slave? You have railed against such things for years, and now _you_ , of all people . . . ."

"As I said," Timov cut him off. "It is a complicated situation, not of my choosing. I do not approve of it anymore now than I did before, but we all have House allegiances and personal duties that we must abide by. And _you_ never objected to slavery until you began consorting with slaves on Babylon 5."

Ignoring her comment, Londo said, "You _will_ free Phylakios," he growled emphatically, gesturing toward the palace corridors. "I gave an order to divest House Mollari of its slaves, and you are a part of my House."

"It is more complicated than that, Londo. My uncle was very clear in his instructions, and I would not have hired Phylakios to the royal guard if I did not have his complete allegiance - in the form of his contract. He also . . . has other reasons. Of course he wishes to be free, but he also has his reasons for accept a position in my guard. He wanted to remind the Republic that once upon a time, slaves were entrusted with the noblest of duties. He wanted to remind the nobles that the way they look down upon slaves today, selling them from owner to owner, was not always the view of enlightened nobles. Slaves have also served their Republic. They were once the most trusted of servants and soldiers, some even rising to the rank of General. The noblest even earned the title of their own House upon the completion of their contract. Even the Royal Household entrusted some of it most important positions to slaves, trusting in their loyalty and discretion."

"Are you saying you wish me to name him Lord Master of the Door?" Londo snorted. "And raise him to the position of a slave noble?"

Timov sighed. "That is up to you. It would restore some of our forgotten traditions – what drawback is there to reviving the social status of slave noble? It is uninherited, so it rewards only those who earn it, unlike the underserving nobles leeching off the Republic and clogging the palace hallways these days. The position of Lord Master of the Door was one of the most respected positions in the Republic for centuries. Although I am a harem of only one, I am sure you will find others to add as the years go on."

"No," Londo shook his head, "I am done with marriages. You are enough of a headache by yourself, and I do not wish a repeat performance of Mariel or Daggair."

Seeing Londo's anger, Timov sighed, "I _am_ sorry. I should have told you about this when you came home after my uncle died, but I didn't want to ruin your trip when you were trying so hard to doing something kind for me. And then, the more time that passed, the harder it became to tell you."

Londo's jaw was set. "So you asked me to make him the captain of your guards without mentioning it?"

"Oh, how could I, Londo? I knew you would feel betrayed and upset. I had sent you all those ledgers, and I thought . . . I thought perhaps you found out for yourself and simply didn't want to discuss it. It is how we have handled a number of disagreements in our marriage. And anyway, you have never been a fan of complete transparency in our marriage. Do you wish to start now?"

Londo ignored her retort, but in the silence that followed, he considered the matter at length, his temper cooling. At last, he said, "You appointed Phylakios to your guard because his contract would be sold to another if something happened to you."

"It was advantageous for both of us," Timov responded matter-of-factly. "He was assured of a prestigious job he would never receive otherwise because of his class status, and the terms of his contractual extension were mutually agreeable because he trusts me. In exchange, I knew that he would never betray me because it would place his own future in jeopardy. He is the only one I could trust. Especially here," she gestured to the palace.

"If I ask him these things, he will agree with all you have said - of his own free will?"

Timov tapped her fingertips on the tiles, "He is an honorable man, Londo. Far more honorable than any noble I have met."

"Such is the state of the Republic then?" Londo ground his teeth. "A slave has more honor than the class designated to rule?"

"He has never lied to you," Timov said.

"You must be cut from the same cloth then," Londo grunted, "because a lie by omission is still a lie."

"Don't be obtuse," Timov replied. "It isn't the same thing at all. If you wish to make erroneous assumptions about the things people tell you, that is your own business. He has never lied, and he has told you when he cannot answer your questions."

"And yet _you_ lied to me," Londo said quietly.

"Here we go," Timov said to herself.

"You say I am blind because I have thought you have been having an affair. And yet, you told me that you would never love me," Londo watched Timov's expression. "And I believed you."

Timov stared at Londo, startled by his words. When she finally gathered herself, she replied, "I'm not sure if that is an accusation or a question, but at the time I made that statement, you were choosing wives to discard. I didn't approve of it, and I didn't want you thinking I'd congratulate you on your choice, as if it entitled you to my affection."

Londo glowered at her. ""You did not like my choice? I would remind you that _you_ were my choice. _"_

"I did not like your display, nor the way you allowed Mariel and Daggair to supplicate themselves, begging to stay in positions all of you despised."

"You do not deny that you lied to me, then?" Londo asked.

Timov noted the genuine question in his voice, all traces of anger having vanished, but she glared at Londo. "I think you wanted a fiction, Londo. A wife to fall all over you, to trail in your majestic wake, a supplicant to your whims."

Now it was Londo's turn to glare, "That's not true."

Timov watch her husband with curiosity. "Isn't it? It is what you have found in countless affairs. They are delightful and perfect - for a short while. It is only when time illuminates realities that you discard them for something less troublesome."

Londo's glower deepened, "I never asked for perfection. . . ."

"My point is," Timov cut him off, "At heart, you are a dreamer, Londo. And at heart, I am a practical woman. There are many kinds of love, and many ways of showing affection, and it has taken you this long to accept me as I am - to recognize all that I have done for you. The same is true for me. It has taken me a long while to accept that you see the world bookended by the dreams you have for it - for good or for ill. Frankly, it used to drive me crazy, the way you would talk of the Republic's glory days, but you have managed to bow the entire Centaurum and the people to your dreams. So perhaps we have both learned something with age."

Londo stewed in silence for several minutes before replying. " _This_ is how you tell me you love me?"

Timov smiled, "You don't need me to tell you anything, Londo. In your hearts, you already know, or you wouldn't have asked about my comment to you when you left Mariel and Daggair, and you certainly wouldn't have accused me of lying to you about it. And would you have it any other way? Would you rather I swoon and fuss over you?"

"Yes," Londo managed a smile at last, "I would."

Timov rolled her eyes, "My point exactly. If I ever do that," she continued, reaching out for his arm, her gentle touch belaying her words, "you'll know I have taken leave of my senses."

Londo leaned backward to retrieve a nearby towel. He drew her out of the bath and wrapped her in its folds, "As you say, I've learned to live with it."

As Timov gazed at him, she asked quietly, "All this time - you've really thought that . . . ." Her words trailed off at the sadness on his face.

Londo glanced at the ground, "We have not had an easy marriage, Timov. You know that as well as I. When I was in the diplomatic corps, I did not see all of the things you did for me - for our family. But I have finally begun to appreciate it now. When you came to the palace, you did everything I asked, and you took on much more of your own accord, and you have done it all with kindness and grace. As much as you disagree with me, you have never embarrassed me or aired your grievances in public. You have had every opportunity to do so at the Cabinet meetings in front of the ministers, yet you give me frank advice in private, and for that reason I have come to rely on you and trust your counsel. When I finally came to appreciate all of these things, the long years had already taken their toll on our marriage. I know you have kept many things from me - and I have kept many more from you - but _this_ is the one thing you have lied directly to me about, and so I believed you. In all the years since you said it, I believed that you were immune to any effort I might make to win you over, and believed that if you found happiness elsewhere, then I had no right to stand in the way, for I have also sought happiness outside my marriages more times than I care to count. But that does not mean I have been happy to think such things."

Timov touched a hand to her chest.. "I never thought you placed much value in my words. You always ignore them."

Londo laughed, "I ignore them, that is true, but that does not mean that I do not value them." Londo searched her eyes in silence for some time. "I have ordered Vir to look into ensuring that there is an adequate supply of dexycylodox for your pain management. And I have asked the Royal Physician to look into treatment options, but he tells me that most of the work on the disease has been done by humans and Minbari, as there have been relatively few Centauri diagnosed with the condition. There are places off world that . . . ."

"I do not wish to leave Centauri Prime."

"And I do not wish to see you suffer."

"I am not interested in your pity," Timov replied. "It is yet another reason I didn't want you to know about my illness."

"It is not pity," he said softly, and for the first time in a long while, Londo drew her into an intimate kiss.

But just as she felt their hearts racing, breath quickening, and hands wandering, he drew away with a grimace. "I cannot," he said, anguish evident in his face.

Timov pulled back, "What do you mean?"

"I _cannot_ ," he repeated, his face darkening.

Timov observed him silently for a moment before it dawned on her. "Well," she said gently, mindful of his ego in the matter, "it happens to men at your age. But all six? That's quite serious. Have you seen a doctor about it?"

She noticed a brief look of confusion on his face before his cleared his throat. "Yes, all six. How could I consult with a physician about it? If it became public, it would be a matter of great embarrassment for me. And the nation. An Emperor who cannot . . . eh . . . perform properly."

Timov smiled, "So that is why you have not been enjoying the benefits of your office? I had wondered. I thought perhaps it was the increasing amounts of brivari you've been ingesting in your spare time."

Londo shook his head. "I am rarely alone. And when I am alone, as you say, I have had a great deal of brivari, which would have quite the same effect."

"It is the stress of your office, no doubt," she squeezed his hands, and he wrapped her in another embrace. Timov resigned herself to her husband's affection, her half-hearted attempts to ward it off now merely a habit crumbling in light of her genuine care for him.

But even as she enjoyed the moment, she mentally noted the new additions to the growing list of behaviors out of character for her husband of over thirty years. His reluctance to enter the bath as he always had would be written in her handwriting on a small note, tucked away from prying eyes in a locked drawer in her private desk. And although it was perfectly plausible that he was experiencing male dysfunction, it wasn't clear why he had felt the need to tell her that he was "rarely alone," and so she would note his accompanying poor excuses for his withdrawal from physical intimacy that he so clearly and desperately wanted. But most strikingly, it was six of his words that kept ringing over and over in her ears: _"We all have our little secrets."_


	13. A Feather Upon the Scales

Senna watched the beginning of the Rising Ceremony with trepidation. The Empress had arrived to celebrate the achievements of all of the students. Although the Empress had kept abreast of all of Senna's grades and school reports, Senna felt as though she had let her benefactors down, for she knew her name would not be on the prestigious rolls of honor. She had not done poorly in school, but with all of the recent changes in her life and the glaring public spotlight, she had grappled with numerous obstacles. The constant reminder of the death of her father and her mothers and the disbanding of House Refa were not least among the topics that troubled her thoughts. She had done particularly well in several of the classes usually restricted from women's studies, such as politics, but other classes held little interest for her. She was popular among her peers, although Senna suspected some of this popularity came from her position as the Emperor's ward. Nevertheless, she had learned to tread the political waters of her school quickly, earning the right to represent her class in proceedings sanctioned by the school administration, but still, she had not earned a vaunted position on the rolls.

Senna remembered her father, Lord Refa, exploding at the news that she had not made the rolls of honor when she was still in elementary school. He had railed at her mothers with an angry tongue-lashing, pointing out that the dignity of House Refa was diminished when she did not earn the honor. He had sent her to a new school where he had ensured she would be named to the list at each Rising Ceremony, but he had fumed for weeks at the insult lodged at him by the school's refusal to name her to the list. The pain of his anger still burned in her when she saw her name did not appear, and she knew that her guardians would feel much the same way. For this reason, she had been too embarrassed to mention it to the Empress, but there was no doubt she would find out today, if she did not know already. Senna's cheeks burned with humiliation, but she sat up straighter in her chair, trying to put on a mask for the cameras that would inevitably be capturing every moment of the ceremony.

The Empress addressed the audience with brief remarks before greeting each student in turn, presenting them with inlaid brooches of achievement, and she congratulated each student on finishing another milestone in her academic career. When the crowd had signaled their approval of the students' efforts, teams of palace guards entered, and the crowd of parents and teachers could barely contain themselves. The Empress smiled at the crowd's gasps, and she ended the main ceremony by calling for her husband to award the honors. The Emperor swept in on her announcement, fresh from the palace, and he cheerfully stopped to congratulate the students on his way to the dais.

At the sight, Senna's hearts fell even further. If her embarrassment at failing to make the honors list had caused her angst before, now her stomach twisted in knots.

Since no one could prevent Londo from spending as long as he wanted entertaining the students, the ceremony was delayed for some time as he animatedly engaged with the students until he finally made his way to the stage, and as he arrived there, the excited crowd hushed. Londo received the rolls of honor from the headmaster and formally recognized each recipient personally, presenting the honorees with a pin embossed with the sceptre of honor, a keepsake each student could display on her uniform as a mark of merit. When Londo reached the end of the rolls, he paused for a moment, his brow furrowing for an instant before he read the last name. Senna's hearts fell further in her chest, flashes of her father's anger returning to her, and her eyes fell to the floor, unable to feign cheerfulness any longer.

On closing the ceremony, Londo gestured in the direction of the palace, inviting the crowd to join him in an open reception for all of the students later in the evening, and the crowd clapped and cheered its approval. Before long, to Senna's relief, the ceremony ended, and she was swept up in the exiting procession. Senna's footsteps haltingly took her toward the exit as she trailed her peers, but she was pushed onwards by the crowd pressing behind her, and before long, she found herself in the sunshine. But the crowd parted before her, and her guards ushered her toward the royal procession, and she found herself in the Emperor's personal carriage face-to-face with her guardians.

Senna silently bowed her head as the carriage began its progression back to the palace. "I know you must be angry. I have let you down," she said quietly.

Londo glanced at Timov before replying, and he leaned forward, asking quietly, "Senna, why would you think I am angry with you?"

"I-I wasn't on the honors list." She looked up slowly. "My father was always livid if I did not make the honors list. He said I dishonored the family by publically failing."

Londo nodded grimly. "I see." He patted her knee solemnly. "I will let you in on a secret, Senna. In my entire academic career, I never made the roll of honors." He chuckled. "I was not the best student. Nor was I the worst. And yet, here I am," he splayed his hands. "It doesn't appear to have stood in my way, no?"

"It has not stood in your way," Senna agreed reluctantly, her eyes still gazing at the floor of the carriage.

Londo continued, "Names are added to the roll of honors only every five years, and it factors in all of your grades for the previous five years, but it does not factor in all of the other events that happen in those five years. One of my mothers died in the third year of the honors cycle, and I no longer had the will to concentrate on my homework. Yet you have been through a great deal of trauma the past few years of your young life, and Timov tells me that all of the teachers speak about you glowingly. You have endured a new home, new classmates, a new family, a new school, and a new position with its own, shall we say, unique challenges. You are under constant scrutiny, and that cannot be easy for a young woman. You have exceeded my expectations, regardless of whether your name is etched on the rolls of honor."

As the carriage rolled up to the entrance of the palace, Londo settled back into his seat as Timov squeezed Senna's arm. Timov said, "Go and enjoy your party, Senna. Londo directed that the grand banquet hall be used for the reception - and he approved an open invitation so that everyone may celebrate with you and your classmates." Timov leaned into her ear, "And I suspect there are some young suitors that might try to bend his ear to accompany you to the Rising Ball."

Senna's eyes widened. "Is that why you did this? For me?" She bit her lip, "Thank you," she said quietly before turning to both of them and hugging them as emotion overwhelmed her.

* * *

While the students, teachers, parents, and guests enjoyed the festivities at the palace, Londo patiently received gentlemen ready to negotiate for the favor of Senna's presence with their sons at the Rising Ball for over two hours before Vir noticed Londo's sideways glances.

"I think Londo wants someone to rescue him," Vir whispered to Timov's ear.

"He's perfectly capable of extracting himself," Timov retorted before she also noticed her husband's increasingly desperate looks. "Oh, all right," she said finally, waving Vir forward.

Vir quickly made his way to the Emperor's side, handing him a note. Londo hardly unfolded the note before he made his excuses. "Apologies, my other duties are calling. My aide will see to the rest of the introductions on my behalf."

As Londo strode toward the entourage near the exit, Vir paled. "Me?" With trepidation, he turned back toward the line stretching before him. "Oh no," he said under his breath.

Approaching his ward Londo, Londo boomed, "There is no shortage of suitors for you, Senna. Now, surely there is one you had your eyes set on?"

Senna blushed, and her eyes fell to the floor, leaving only silence.

"Then he did not come?" Londo face grew stern. "You will tell me the name of the young man, and . . . ."

"It's not that," Senna said quietly. "I-I didn't really have anyone in mind. It is just that everyone else was talking about their invitations, and I guess I didn't want to be left out. But this spectacle," she swept her hand toward the lingering crowd of suitors, "is worse. It will look like I'm trying to show off in front of the other girls."

Londo rubbed his temples. "I forgot about the blood sport that is adolescent politics."

Standing by his side, Timov glared at Londo before turning to Senna, "It is wonderful that you are cognizant of their feelings, Senna, but you are special – you are the Emperor's ward, and it places you in a unique position. One of both status and responsibility. They will understand that, and they will not hold it against you."

Senna's face twisted with emotion as she gestured toward the suitors, "They are only here because of my position, not because of me. The ones I had hoped would come . . . ."

"The son of the President of the Centaurum, Senna," Londo said, "is not a consolation prize. There are several others with equally distinguished credentials."

"Londo," Timov put a hand on his arm, "it is just the Rising Ball. You are not deciding on her future husband today."

Londo waved a waiter over, taking a brivari from his tray. "Perhaps not today," he surveyed the room, "but her Ascension is in little more than a year, and it is my responsibility to ensure a match befitting her station that will ensure that she is properly provided for the rest of her life."

Before Senna could hear Timov's response, Senna was pulled back into the festive crowd by her friends.

* * *

Some days after Senna's banquet, Timov made her way to the Royal Physician's office, and she greeted his startled look with a raised eyebrow.

"Majesty," he took her hand and seated her in a private exam room, "The Emperor and I discussed Lake's Syndrome the other week, and I thought you might be in to see me soon. I have reviewed the files sent by your private physician, and it seems you are still in the initial stages though you were diagnosed some time ago. It is a difficult disease - some seem to progress faster than others. I think your private physician discussed with you, though, that your pain levels will begin to increase dramatically as it enters the secondary and tertiary stages, whenever they should occur. There can be a number of triggers for this, but when it happens, it is critical we ensure an adequate supply of dexycylodox, or your pain levels will be unmanageable. Many patients without dexycylodox are unable to function. There are places off world where we can ensure a constant supply . . . ."

"I understand the progression," Timov replied crisply, "but as I told my husband, I am not interested in moving off world. Now, I am not here about my Lake's Syndrome. I am here," she emphasized, "because I would like to know the last time you gave my husband a physical."

The physician laughed nervously. "His Majesty is in excellent health."

"Do you mean beyond being overweight, out-of-shape, and having one of two mechanical hearts? The same man who was warned by his doctors to decrease his stress levels or he might find himself having another heart attack?"

The doctor laughed nervously again as he rubbed his palms together. "Well . . . ."

"I asked a question, Doctor, and I would like an answer. When was the last time you performed a physical on my husband?"

"I periodically take His Majesty's vitals," he gulped, "Is there something wrong that I should be aware of?"

"Presumably, you would know if something was wrong if you had been performing your job. And he has not seen you about his shoulder problems? They seem to still be plaguing him."

The doctor gulped, his faint excuses crumbling in front of the Empress's pointed questions. "I have sent his office the usual schedule for his routine checkups, and I have asked His Majesty in person, but so far he has declined to have his annual physical performed."

Timov stared at the doctor. "Are you telling me that he has never had his physical done in the years since he came to the palace?"

"Well," the doctor threw his hands up, "Regent Virini also declined to have physicals. We simply report likely health conditions for the palace press releases."

Timov's eyes widened in surprise. "Did you say the Regent also declined? And what about Cartagia?"

"Oh . . . I was not the Royal Physician under Emperor Cartagia. The Royal Physician was executed." He smiled weakly.

"I see," Timov turned on her heel, ending the conversation. "Thank you, doctor," she said over her shoulder.

* * *

For the second time in a week, Londo was blessed with officiating a ceremony for a member of his extended family. The annual coutari championships had been held in the Capitol City, and the Emperor took time from his schedule to watch the title bout, dominated by young men from the military academies. Following the spirited competition, golden coutaris were awarded in each age group, and Londo agreed to stay long enough to bestow the vaunted honor on the recipient of each age group.

But Londo had a clear favorite among the numerous winners, for he was delighted to call Traco Jaddo to receive the golden coutari in the youngest age division competing in the games. As Londo called Traco's name, the boy swept his arm downward in his best imitation of a bow, and ran to the stage with a grin.

"Traco, take care with this," Londo presented a golden coutari to the boy. "It is surely a symbol that the Jaddos are continuing their dominance with the coutari. I know Urza would have been immensely proud of your accomplishment today as he, himself, was the winner of a golden coutari when he was almost twice your age. I know because I also fought in those games, but I had little success in my draws since I had to fight Urza in one of the first few rounds and promptly lost," he laughed.

The quiet Traco took the golden coutari, beaming with pride, his missing baby teeth giving him the toothless look of a young hooligan. He gave the coutari a few slashes in the air, and the audience clapped with delight.

"On second thought," Londo gestured toward the nearby officials, "bring one that isn't sharpened, or Traco will be killing the palace's pet thraces and beheading the Royal garden's teardrop roses with it before the week is out."

* * *

A short time later, the Rising Ball held at Senna's school, and Senna found herself on the arm of young Lord Toscaneli, the son of the President of the Centaurum. House Toscaneli was an old and distinguished noble House, and the elder Lord Toscaneli was rarely opposed when he chose a course for the Centaurum.

At first glance, Senna admired the striking figure of young Toscaneli, and he preened proudly with her on his arm at the ball. He had been taught all of the traditional dances in long years of social etiquette, and Senna couldn't help but admire his display of prowess on the dance floor. Although his mastery of Centauri dance was clearly intended to impress her, Senna noticed that the rest of the crowd was awed as well.

As the ball came to an end, the young noble asked Senna for a tour of her school, and she obliged him. She barely noticed her guards trailing respectfully with an attentive eye on her as she disappeared into the lowered lights of the corridors outside the festive ballroom. Senna took Toscaneli from one room to another, excitedly explaining her preferred teachers, the boring classes, and the prospective site of the new chapel.

In the middle of the tour, she noticed his aloofness, so she allowed him to steer the conversation back to his family's fortunes and power. But unlike Senna's astuteness, Toscaneli unobservantly ignored Senna's quickly waning interest in his bravado.

As they rounded a corner facing several dimly lit classrooms, Toscaneli suddenly pulled her into a small service closet, muffling her astonishment with his hand.

"Shhhh," he pulled his hand away, bringing a finger to his lips. "I am glad," he whispered quietly, "you have been picked for me. You will make a suitable first wife." He leaned toward her, and Senna laughed nervously as he tickled the nape of her neck with his breath, his hands gliding along her arm.

"We should get back," Senna pulled back, but his grip hardened against her arm, and she realized only too late that what she had perceived as playfulness was something with a more sinister edge. Toscaneli was groomed like a gentleman, but he had been cultivated in entitlement, and now he viewed her as a possession to do with as he pleased.

"Just a taste," he pressed against her, and Senna felt his fingers clawing into her dress. "Why should we wait? You will be given to me soon."

"Please stop," she cried, feeling tears swelling in her eyes, but his iron grip tightened, and she could not free herself as he had her wedged against a corner.

She heard the shoulder of her dress tearing, and she tried to shake free from his grasp, elbowing him in the face in the process. His eyes bulged as she struck him, but he ignored her cries and caught her free hand. As the tears streamed down her face, the closet door opened, revealing a beam of light, and two pairs of gloved hands seized the young noble, dragging him backwards.

"Get your hands off me," Toscaneli admonished the guards, pulling away as he covered his eye where Senna's elbow had caught him. "Don't you know who my father is?"

The senior imperial guard turned to her. "Mi'lady, are you hurt?"

Senna took a moment to catch her breath, and she wiped her tears with her forearm. "N-no," she mumbled at last, trying to tuck her torn sleeve back together, but her fingers were shaking. When she finally looked up, she realized the guards were awaiting her command, and she said quietly, "Please, just let him go."

Snapping his heels in acquiescence, the senior guard signaled to the other one to let the young noble go. The guards ushered her out the back of the school unnoticed, taking her home to the palace. When they arrived, she changed clothes while they called the Captain on duty to report the incident. That evening, the Phylakios was on watch duty, and he grimly listened to the story. To Senna's horror, Phylakios explained that the incident had to be reported to her guardians, and after he left with a bow, she buried her head in her hands, ashamed and embarrassed.

* * *

A short while later, the Empress swept into Senna's bedroom, taking Senna into her arms. "Oh, Senna," she exclaimed, carefully examining her, "are you sure you are all right?"

"Yes," Senna nodded through fresh tears, "I'm so sorry to bring dishonor on your House."

"No, child," Timov hugged her tightly, "The dishonor is on House Toscaneli, not you."

Phylakios had accompanied the Empress, and she turned around, dismissing him from Senna's quarters. Only when the door closed did Timov sit down, still hugging her ward closely. "Did he - did he hurt you?" she asked frankly.

Senna bit her lips. "He ripped my dress," she said haltingly, trying to squeeze the memory out of her mind, "But he didn't get any further. The imperial guards - they stopped him." Her tears welled up again. "It just - it was scary, and I didn't think . . . he seemed so nice the rest of the night." Senna gulped, "I think I might have given him a black eye, though, when I was trying to get away."

"Good for you," Timov smiled at her, "Good for you."

Senna also smiled at last, a laugh breaking her tears. "It's so embarrassing. Must we tell the Emperor?"

Timov stared at her for a moment. "Contrary to popular opinion, Londo is not past the age where he will do something foolish and brash, especially if he feels your honor has been tarnished. He has little control of his temper, and I am afraid he would overreact," she mused. "Nevertheless, he is not only the Emperor, he is also your guardian. He takes that role very seriously, and he will want to ensure that Toscaneli is punished, but I will leave the decision of whether to inform him up to you."

Senna shook her head, "I just want to put it behind me. The gods allowed me to give him a black eye, and that is all the punishment I require. I don't want it to tarnish House Mollari's honor, or see it on the news, or to have it cause an incident with the Centaurum. He just . . . he just scared me, that's all."

Timov took out a kerchief and dabbed Senna's cheeks as she thought.

"Empress Timov?" Senna laid a hand on the Empress's arm. "Will I be betrothed to him?"

"Oh, child," Timov exclaimed, "not for all the ducats in the Treasury."

"But the Emperor - he is partial to Lord Toscaneli," Senna wiped away tears.

Timov nodded grimly. "That is true," Timov patted her hand. "But Londo has been cast under your spell, Senna. I've never seen him quite so taken with anyone as he is with you. You have him wrapped around your finger. He boasts about how you have been selected to represent your class at every opportunity. He's immensely proud of you. I know him as well as anyone, I suppose, and I would wager that if you ask him, he would not deny you the request to remove Lord Toscaneli from your list of suitors. But," Timov paused as a look of seriousness descended upon her, "do not abuse his such a thing. My husband is a romantic, but he is not a fool, regardless of how he may act sometimes. And he will wonder why you do not wish such a match with Lord Toscaneli."

Senna played with her fingers nervously, thinking. "Maybe . . . maybe you could do it for me? Tell him, I mean?"

Timov smiled, "Of course. It is a wise decision, and I will ask him to honor your request."

Senna cast her eyes at the floor. "I was so looking forward to the ball tonight, but now - I don't think any of the men seeking my hand are interested in me. I feel like I'm just a prize to them."

Timov nodded slowly. "Marriage can be challenging, Senna. You are a prize to them, but you don't have to be only a prize. There are good men out there, and there is one waiting for you."

Senna's will hardened, "There is something else I wish to ask from His Majesty."

When Senna finished her explanation, Timov looked grim. "Londo is a man of tradition, but we can ask. It is all we can do."

* * *

"He did WHAT?" Londo might have shattered the brivari glass in his hand had Timov not relieved him of it.

Timov watched Londo's face redden with anger, but she knew it would cool sooner or, more likely, later. So she patiently waited, allowing him to pace like a leati as he growled his displeasure.

"He deserves his head upon a pike - the insolence!" Londo shook a finger at her.

"I agree with you that he deserves to be punished, but that is not Senna's wishes."

Londo turned on Timov, "And who is the Guardian, _then_ , and _who_ is the ward? It is _my_ decision."

Timov waited, again, watching Londo throw back another glass of brivari before she gently explained, "Senna does not wish to bring embarrassment upon the Crown. It would become a national scandal, and the elder Lord Toscaneli is one of your closest allies in the Centaurum. You cannot afford to alienate him, nor he you."

"His son will not get away with laying his hands upon my ward," Londo replied briskly.

Timov rolled her eyes, "Are you more concerned with his insolence toward Senna or as you perceive his actions are insolence toward you?"

Londo's eyes burned, "That's not fair. I am concerned with Senna's safety."

Timov raised her eyebrows, "Then if you are concerned for Senna's well-being, you will take into account her wishes in the matter."

"I will not let this go unpunished," Londo fumed before he softened and turned toward Timov. "What would you suggest?"

"Handle it quietly," Timov encouraged him, "call his father, and he will see that the matter is resolved internally. It will save the both of you from the politics that would arise otherwise, and it will save Senna from the press hounding her about a deeply traumatizing event for a young woman."

Londo considered this at length before finally agreeing. "All right," he said, his temper finally eviscerating under her counsel.

* * *

After further discussion, Londo directed his staff to send Senna to join them, and she nervously entered the room.

"I am glad, Senna, that you are all right," he reassured her. "That is the most important thing. You do not need to worry about anything else, all right?"

Senna nodded.

"Now," Londo continued, "Timov has presented your request," Londo motioned to Senna to sit down. "It is one of my greatest responsibilities to ensure your future. To make your own decision about your future husband . . . ." Londo's voice trailed off.

"It is not without precedent," Timov interrupted.

Reluctantly, Londo agreed. "No, it is not without precedent." He stared into his glass. Finally, he looked up, smiling at Senna, "I do have some reservations, but Timov has reminded me that marriages are meant to increase a family's position, and you are already the ward of the Emperor, so there is no position to be gained through a marriage. Every man in the Republic will seek your hand to increase his standing in society, but what is important is your happiness. So, after some discussion," he glanced at Timov, "I have agreed to grant your request to choose your own husband . . . ."

Senna's eyes grew wide with surprise, and she clapped her hands with happiness, knowing that this was no small thing. "Oh, thank you," she threw herself into his arms, surprising Londo by hugging him tightly.

". . . On one condition," Londo pulled away, grasping her shoulders as seriousness overtook him. "I reserve a right of refusal to ensure the suitor is suitable for my ward, yes?"

Senna nodded with happiness, "Of course, it is right and proper."

"Good," Londo wrapped her in a hug again as Timov looked on with approval. "And eh," Londo grinned, "I will double your guards, and you will have a chaperone at future dances, and . . . ."

* * *

In the coming weeks, Senna realized that whereas when she first came to the palace, she could not wait for the dagger that promised vengeance for her family's death. But now, she felt trepidation as she thought of the waning days before her Ascension. Her experience at the palace had been far from what she had expected. Importantly, her feelings and wishes had been taken into account at each situation she had encountered, by both of her guardians. At every obstacle, the Emperor had been kind and reassuring, and he had never demanded that she meet unrealistic expectations. The Empress had been her constant advocate and supporter, helping her grow into her new life with growing confidence and poise. Nevertheless, Senna felt torn between fidelity to her murdered father and the unanticipated feelings of affection she felt for her guardians. Her blood family would have never considered her feelings in the same way as her guardians had. Nevertheless, feelings of disloyalty dogged her thoughts as she thought of her father lying in his grave.

Senna lit a votive to the gods and asked them for guidance, hoping that her Ascension would stay as far in the future as possible, but she knew that each day that passed brought it closer and closer.


	14. The Wheel Turns

After Londo ordered him to personally oversee the executive order banning aliens from Centauri Prime, one Vir Cotto, a.k.a. Abraham Lincolni, immediately got to work. He regularly visited the Ministry of Defense, personally observing the Ministry's plans for strikes on illicit aliens, and he asked for copies of each reported sighting of an alien to be sent to his office.

As a member of the diplomatic corps, Vir had contacts that he knew would be sympathetic to the cause, and he recruited them to quietly shield aliens he located before vigilantes or the Ministry of Defense could ruthlessly slaughter them. But many aliens had been unable to secure transportation before the execution order had been imposed, and his contacts were soon overwhelmed with people seeking sanctuary.

With his royal position, Vir Cotto found his lavish salary more than adequate for his meager needs, and he quietly searched the planet for a secluded estate to be purchased from his burgeoning funds. He kept the purchase a secret from his family and friends, and he spent the hours he was not busy at work or with his oversight duties at the Ministry of Defense by planning renovations to the existing property. Within a few months, his new estate, buried in densely forested mountains in the west of Centauri Prime's major continent, was finished. The estate had a gated and imposing fence line, access to fresh well water, fertile and productive farm animals, extensive agricultural land, and even boasted access to gaping caverns created by the mountains natural geologic processes. It was a fortress in the forest.

When construction was complete, Vir moved the aliens one-by-one to his new estate, promising them transport out of the system when it was safe.

Vir met the first group of aliens, a mix of Gaim, Drazi, and Abbai. After welcoming them to their new sanctuary, he handed each of them papers.

"What are these?" one of the Drazi asked suspiciously.

"They are . . ." Vir looked at the ground unhappily, "slave papers. They will ensure no one can harm you if you leave the sanctuary or it is compromised and raided by the Ministry."

The Drazi spat. "And what do you want in exchange for this . . . 'kindness.'"? He asked with a growl.

"No, no," Vir put up his hands. "They are to maintain an illusion only. You are free here, and you are will be free to leave when I can secure a ship. But this community must be self-sufficient or people will begin asking questions, and I can't risk hiring any servants. So you will have to govern yourselves, and ensure the resources here are managed properly."

One of the Abbai stepped forward and embraced Vir. "Thank you," the man said quietly, adjusting his glasses. "You are a brave man, Vir Cotto. I only wish there were more Centauri like you."

"They are just afraid," Vir said weakly. "They don't really feel this way. They're just . . . it has just been a tough time since the bombing."

"This seems like a pretty big place," the Drazi replied. "It should suffice."

Vir's eyes fell. "I fear there will be many more," he said quietly. "That's why you have to manage the resources well."

"We'll manage," the Abbai patted Vir on the shoulder.

* * *

Emperor Mollari had finally named his Prime Minister, perhaps seeing a bit of himself in the swaggering figure of Minister Wesa, who was only too glad to take the position, and the Emperor acquiesced to the strong recommendation by Minister Palazzo that Mollari's own Captain of the Guards, Durla, be promoted to the position of Minister of Defense, left vacant by Wesa.

After the Centaurum authorized broad martial law measures, Durla ordered the Ministry of Defense to implement increasingly stringent military measures designed to feed the ever-growing military forces and to ensure domestic support for the measured expansion authorized by the Emperor.

The Centauri Republic annexed several former colonial planets critical to the Centauri's need for natural resources following the IA's brutal sanctions. Though affected Alliance members were upset with the turn of events, there was little political support to take further military action against the Centauri beyond sanctions, especially in light of the relatively small and unimportant annexations.

Within a few months of his appointment as Prime Minister, Wesa approached the Emperor in the throne room, requesting a private audience.

"I'm afraid, Your Majesty, that my health had taken a turn for the worse, and I humbly submit my resignation," he handed Londo papers resigning his office.

Londo glanced at the papers with his brow furrowed. "What do you mean? What has happened?"

"Let us just say," Wesa smiled weakly, "that it would be bad for my health if I were to continue as Prime Minister."

Left again without a Prime Minister, Londo spent several sleepless nights considering his next steps, but at the next cabinet meeting, the newly appointed Defense Minister, Durla, nominated Minister Palazzo as Wesa's replacement. He had the full support of the cabinet behind him, and knowing the country needed an experienced hand at its helm, Londo reluctantly agreed to Palazzo's nomination as Prime Minister.

As soon as he was named as Prime Minister, Palazzo moved quickly to consolidate his newfound hold on power, using domestic surveillance on other ministers and members of the Centaurum to ensure his position.

Under Palazzo's direction, Durla expanded the military's reach by curtailing the private rights of citizens, and together, they used the mere whiff of treason to bring charges against potential rivals. Several noble houses were swept up in the allegations, and notable patriarchs took their own lives rather than disgrace or lose their House.

The expulsion of offworlders and the restriction of personal rights led to an increasing atmosphere of fear and resentment behind closed doors, but few dared speak against the government in light of the Ministry of Defense's growing presence on the streets and its growing power under ambitious ministers. Nevertheless, protests against the regime were beginning to build among Centauri in the restive South and elsewhere.

* * *

In a cabinet meeting, Defense Minister Durla presented a report detailing the Centauri's military weaknesses. Waving an electronic pad, he turned to the Emperor. "Majesty, I would like authorization to actively monitor, evaluate, and investigate any telepath who may prove a security risk to this administration."

Timov waited a moment, but her face paled when she saw Londo's face. She had known him long enough to recognize what no one else in the room could see - a veiled but unmistakable expression of anger as he locked eyes with Durla. "So it is you," Londo said quietly, so low that Timov almost missed it.

Durla put a hand to his chest, "I'm sorry, Majesty, did you say something?" he asked, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Majesty, if I might," Prime Minister Palazzo broke in. "We have been detaining telepaths, and they are using their skills to illicitly scan military facilities. Even when they are drafted, they make the soldiers uncomfortable. I suggest that it is time that we separate them from the rest of the population."

After a moment, the Emperor seemed to reign in his temper, "I will give it all _due_ consideration," he spat before unceremoniously leaving the cabinet chambers.

After the meeting, Palazzo swiftly caught up with the Emperor as he returned to his office. "What do you want, Palazzo?" Londo growled as they strided down the palace's wide hallway. "Majesty, there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about," he approached the subject with diplomatic gentleness. "It is about your aide, Ambassador Cotto."

The Emperor glanced back at Palazzo, laying aside the digital pads on his desk. "What is it?"

"Minister Durla has brought it to my attention that Mr. Cotto has made some rather heavy investments of late."

"Vir?" Londo snorted, "What would he be investing in?"

"I fear he may be using his position to amass a rather large fortune in slaves, Majesty. He's bought a secluded estate in one of the western provinces, and he has acquired a number of. . . ."

The Emperor froze. "Vir Cotto," he said sharply, cutting Palazzo off, "has earned the right to do whatever he likes with his fortune. I do not consider it an abuse of his position. Now," he looked intently at Palazzo and chose his words carefully, "I do not wish to know any more about his private activities, and you will not investigate my aides - just as I instructed your predecessor not to investigate my family."

Palazzo blinked but bowed respectfully before departing.

* * *

Timov watched the guards scanning her bedchamber for bugs. While the palace was swept twice a day, she had three pairs of guards perform the procedure this night under her close supervision.

There had been things, over the years, that had given her pause, but she still had not confronted Londo about her suspicions. Partially, she did not want to disrupt their newfound understanding. For the first time, her marriage might even be classified as enjoyable, rather than an unending trial of her patience. And partially, she knew she had no real proof of anything out of the ordinary. She had long suspected that a minister might have his thumb on Londo, though she had never been able to pinpoint which minister. Now, with Wesa's downfall and Palazzo rising to Prime Minister, she was positive she knew who was behind the machinations. But it was the telepath issue that had pushed her to finally confront him, as uncomfortable as it would be, and whatever repercussions it would bring.

After the guards departed, she clasped her hands in front of her, thinking of what she would say to him. She waited for him over two hours late into the night until she heard the door and his unsteady footsteps.

"You are still up?" he asked brightly, a slur mumbling his words as he sat down next to her, pouring her a drink to accompany his own. "I suppose you want to talk about the festivities for Senna's Ascension," he said as he handed it to her.

She fingered her drink for a moment without sipping it. "Everything is in place. It will be a lovely ceremony."

"It is strange to think that these years have passed so quickly, and our young Senna will be eligible to marry," Londo mused. "I have questioned her guards about whether she has been seeing any suitors, and they report she has been rather stoic on that point." He chuckled.

"Londo, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"Well?" Londo leaned back in his chair, throwing up an open hand.

Timov took a deep breath. "House Palazzo has a xenophobic reputation."

Londo merely grunted in response.

Timov went on, "House Mollari has not had that reputation – not yet."

Londo's intoxicated gaze snapped up at her. "You are angry I am taking the suggestion on telepaths under advisement," he said calmly.

A serious look descended over her features. "I have known you for decades, Londo Mollari, and I am constantly perplexed at your behavior since you became Emperor. First with the declaration against aliens and again now, that you would even give this absurd idea more than a moment's consideration. Telepaths, Londo, are one of our nation's great assets - an asset other countries, like the Narn - are lacking entirely. And now, you are going to round them up . . . ."

"I have not given my assent," Londo replied, his face drawn with tension.

"And yet, you _heard_ them, Londo - they have already been doing it behind your back. Minister Palazzo is out of hand."

"The situation will be dealt with," he cut her off.

"Why don't you sack Palazzo? Everyone thinks he is behind Wesa's abrupt resignation. He's probably lucky he didn't end up with a dagger in the back. Anyway, you hardly liked Wesa, and Palazzo is worse." She saw the warm glow on Londo's face dissolve into a look of guarded concern, and she waited a moment before arching an eyebrow and adding, "The room is free from bugs. I had the guards scan it before you arrived, so you may speak freely."

"Timov," he repeated, a warning tone in his voice. "You don't know what you are talking about."

"How is it he is controlling your decisions, Londo?" Timov asked quietly. "Has he found evidence of your grandfather's crimes on Narn?" she continued. "Is that what he is using to get you to do these things? I didn't quite believe it when you allowed the order on alien executions – after you have served as a diplomat beside them. And the rationing for the military was barbaric, but even I could rationalize some sort of practical necessity. But our telepaths? They are our neighbors, our family. It is like selecting someone with brown eyes over someone with blue eyes. It is incomprehensible you would even consider such a thing." She noticed Londo's face had turned sheet white, and his eyes held a look of intensity she had never seen before.

"Timov . . . ." His voice was taunt.

"And what other things has he done? Is Palazzo preventing you from seeing the royal physician? I'm was sure Palazzo was waiting to become Prime Minister, and now he's done it, so he is the next likely emperor. That toad is waiting for you to keel over, I'm sure of it."

Londo stood up pointing at her, his chest heaving. "I am doing everything I can to keep our country from falling into complete destruction. You will not mention this fantasy _to me_ again."

"Londo . . . ." Timov stood up to face him, placing her own drink back on the tray, as she felt determined to get some answers out of him, but suddenly, she felt ricochets of pain, and the floor suddenly swept toward her.

Londo dropped his glass of brivari, and it crashed to the floor, shattering. Londo reached out to catch Timov as she fell, easing her down onto the floor. Just as he prepared to call the guards, her eyes fluttered open again.

"I – I just forgot to take my injection," she said weakly. "I was distracted today," she continued.

"All right," he cut her off gently, "I will get it. Wait here."

Timov closed her eyes again; she couldn't get up if she had wanted to.

In a moment, Londo returned from Timov's medicine cabinet with her injection and administered it. Immediately, Timov felt the relief flowing through her veins, and she grasped his arms as he lifted her into a standing position.

"I'm fine, Londo, really," she protested, but he steered her to the bed. "You need to rest," he told her softly. "I'll have Palco clean up the shattered glass. I will tell him to be as quiet as a _thrasio_ , or he will earn my wrath."

"Londo," she grasped his sleeve.

Squeezing her hand, he reassured her. "Do not worry about the ministers, Timov. Now get some sleep." And he disappeared before Timov could muster any further protests.

* * *

Shiv'kala loomed over Mollari.

"She knows _nothing_ ," Londo stared at the Drakh with intensity, his hands clasped together in front of him, pleading. "You heard what she thinks. Please."

Shiv'kala blinked slowly. "We are not interested in discussing the woman. She may believe whatever she likes about your ministers."

Londo let out a sigh in relief.

"But we cannot abide telepaths. You will submit to the request. There have been too many close calls already."

Londo closed his eyes before re-opening them with determination. "Timov was right about the telepaths – they are my own people. It is a line I must draw. I cannot simply let you murder every telepath on Centauri Prime because you are afraid they will sense your presence."

"I would advise you to reconsider," Shiv'kala sent spasms of pain through the keeper to Mollari's body, and this time, Shiv'kala coldly watched Mollari sink to knees, then to the floor, his eyes bulging as his jaw worked back and forth, his fingers scratching at the air. As Shiv'kala instructed the keeper to relax its tendrils wrapped around Mollari's nerves, Shiv'kala watched Londo roll over, coughing blood onto the tiles of the Royal Suite before he passed out from the pain.

After he awoke some time later, Mollari dragged himself across the floor. He crawled on his stomach through his blood, resting again before pulling himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall.

Shiv'kala watched Mollari's progress with cold indifference. He felt the Drakh's telepathic link calling, and he met the Drakh Collective within his mind.

"The insolent Centauri is putting our progress in jeopardy," the Drakh Collective said. "The Centauri telepaths must be exterminated so our people may safely expand in the caves below the planet."

Shiv'kala bowed his head. "I will see that his will is broken. This time, it will be for good."

The Drakh Collective nodded their approval. " _Yes_ , _for good_ ," they responded.


	15. Rise

Although the Emperor had been abruptly absent from meetings for several days, he finally reemerged from his chambers looking worn just in time for Senna's Ascension day.

When the next Cabinet meeting was called, Minister Palazzo returned to the question of telepaths, and Londo quashed the subject with a growl, refusing to entertain any notion of rounding up telepaths for questioning, reprogramming, and worse.

After the Cabinet meeting, Londo found Vir, pulling him into a cavernous but empty room off the broad palace hallway. "I need you to do something for me, Vir."

"Oh, yes – of course, Londo. What is it I can do?"

"You are meant to attend the Gaim Interstellar Conference as my representative, yes?"

"Yes, I'm meant to leave on a transport this afternoon."

"Cancel it," Londo instructed. "We will send someone else. I have something far more important for you to attend to."

"Of course, Londo. Whatever I can do." Vir managed a weak smile.

"Good, good." Londo turned to face Vir and shook a finger at him as he grew serious. "Senna's Ascension day is at last upon us, but you know as well as I that during one's Ascension, it is very easy to get taken advantage of. You will ensure that she enjoys herself but," Londo pointed a finger at him, "not too much, you understand? She has more suitors than I can count, and I want you to make sure they keep a respectable distance."

"Ohhhhh," Vir's eyes grew wide as he ascertained what his role would be for the evening. "Wouldn't this be a better role for one of the courtesans or…."

"No," Londo cut him off firmly. "Her suitors will maintain a respectful distance only if she is on the arm of a gentleman, and she will not appreciate it if I hover over her all night. She'll never let me hear the end of it."

"But aren't you really just doing the same thing?" Vir stammered.

"VIR!" Londo frowned at him. "You will do this for me, yes? I want you to ensure her safety. You are the only one I trust with her tonight. Not only because you will be the most sober person in the palace."

Vir licked his lips, "Of course, Londo, I will do my best."

"Better than that, Vir," Londo gestured him toward the door, "Now you have a long ceremony in front of you, so be on your guard, eh?"

After the Cabinet meeting, guests began arriving for Senna's Ascension festivities, and the palace filled with throngs of guests to help Senna celebrate her ascension into adulthood. The nobility arrived in their finest regalia, but without shoes as was the custom, and Senna's contemporaries sported intricate masks celebrating their chosen gods for the occasion.

Urza Jaddo's nieces also arrived to celebrate Senna's Ascension with her, and Timov rested her hands on the shoulders of young Traco Jaddo as the women disappeared in search of Senna. Timov glanced around the hall for Londo, but the heralds had not announced his presence, and she had hardly seen him since their discussion the week before. Nevertheless, after the clock struck midnight, marking the official beginning of several days of celebration, the crowds parted, and Londo arrived in good spirits, toasting Senna and making several speeches before the guests heaped mounds of gifts at Senna's feet. After she had opened them, the Emperor motioned to Emanio who stepped forward with an intricately carved box inlaid with pearl and onyx, clearly the Emperor's gift to the young woman.

"Now," Londo boomed, gesturing for Senna to join him. "Empress Sandolina conspired against her husband, the Emperor, and in killing him became the first and only female Emperor of the Centauri Republic. It is said her rule was among the most peaceful and bountiful periods on Centauri Prime, but for her crimes, she was deposed by her ministers, and the Centaurum immediately removed women from the line of succession. Nevertheless, we still celebrate Empress Sandolina for her wits in bringing the entire Centauri Republic to its knees before her. So, in this box," he nodded to Emanio to give it to her, "you will find the blade of Empress Sandolina."

Nervous chatter ran through the crowd at the sight of the inlaid box. The dagger had been in every child's history books, but the Royal Archives had kept the actual object from the public's eyes for almost all of the three centuries since it had last been used by Empress Sandolina against her husband.

"It carries with it both responsibility and freedom," Londo continued, "for it allows you to use its blade on any person within the Republic without consequences." He took a paper from the pocket of his waistcoat. "Here is my order allowing Senna this right," he dangled it in front of the crowd before tucking it away again.

The noise level in the room rose audibly with the revelation about the dagger's uses, but Londo silenced them with an arm. "It is," he leaned out toward the crowd, "a good warning for her suitors, yes?" He chuckled heartily, and the crowd roared with laughter.

Timov, who was watching from one the wings, could not contain her gasp at the introduction of the gift, and she stared on with cold fear gripping her spine, knowing the gift must have something to do with Londo's involvement with Refa's murder.

"Senna," Londo gestured toward his ward as he took the box and carefully opened it before offering it to her.

Senna accepted the box hesitantly, and she fingered the dagger, feeling its cool metal beneath her fingertips. She glanced back at Londo, whose humor had faded as he gave the box to her. Now a look of pensiveness descended over his face as he waited for her next actions.

Senna saw the guards just beyond his shoulders and wondered if she could spring to his side before the guards stopped her. She tested the edge with her finger and found blood forming along the cut she had made in her skin.

As the seconds ticked back, the crowd hushed, waiting for her reply, and Senna thought of all that she had endured, her dead father staring out from his grave, and her mothers incinerated by bombs. But she also thought of her days on the streets on Centauri Prime, and the safety she had been offered by the Emperor after her foolish and youthful plot against him, the education and friendships the Empress had secured for her and others like her at the school, and the personal choices the Emperor had allowed her to make for herself.

Londo had taken her father away, and she missed him, as she missed her mothers. But Senna had found more kindness and understanding under Londo's rule over her childhood years than her father, and she remembered the words of the gods who had visited her in her dreams, " _Blessings blossom in forms ye least expect. Close ye eyes and open ye heart, and ye will find that we have provided for ye, and ye will be blessed of the gods_." She realized that once again, she had a personal choice in her fate – allowing her to find her own way in the world, giving her equal measures of both independence and loyalty. But she also realized this this was her decision alone. She would decide for herself if vengeance was worth the sacrifice of happiness, and so, she slowly closed the box.

"Your Majesty," she addressed Londo with a bow of her head. "You bestow a gift upon me that is priceless, but I am unworthy of it, and I would trade this gift for another."

The Emperor leaned forward, intrigued. "Then ask, Senna, and if it is within my power to grant it, it will be yours."

Senna handed the inlaid box back to Emanio, gathering her courage before she faced the Emperor again. "I was robbed of my family," she saw the Emperor watching her intently, "and then I found a new family. Under the law, I am freed from my guardians – and my new family - because I have become an adult. So now I have no House, no family."

"Ah," Londo stopped her with a hand, "I know what you are going to ask, and I have already signed the decree, as promised. He snapped, and Emanio deposited a scroll, embossed with the Royal Seal. addressed the audience. "In recognition of Senna's accomplishments, House Refa will again be one of the noble houses of the Republic, regaining its seat in the Centaurum. It will be under the supervision of your father's third cousin, Lord Buesso Refa. And I have restored your ancestral home and lands to his control."

Senna took the scroll and unrolled it, reading the official declaration, biting her trembling lip. "Thank you," she whispered. The courtiers vigorously applauded the unanticipated move to revive House Refa, and Senna waited until the noise died down.

"Again, Majesty, your kindness is unequaled, and all of House Refa will rejoice with your decision. On their behalf, I pledge their blood in support of the Crown." Senna paused, "But that is not what I was going to ask."

Londo's brows furrowed together, curious at his ward's unspoken request. He nodded to her, allowing her to continue.

"I have been long removed from my own House, now, Majesty, and I wish a permanent family with the one I have known for years, so I ask that you formally adopt me, as is customary in our tradition."

Senna could see the shock evident on Londo's face, and she saw him breathing hard glancing across the hall at Timov before he turned back toward her. "Then by royal decree, let the word go forth that I have adopted you, and henceforth, you shall be known as Princess Senna, and my House shall be yours as well," he broke a smle.

Cognizant of royal decorum, Senna did not try to embrace him in front of the crowd, but she swept backwards into a formal curtsy.

The hall erupted into cheers and shrieks of excitement. The Centauri Republic had not had a princess since before Emperor Turhan, and the sudden addition to the Royal family was met by public rejoicing. The people had little to celebrate of late, and finally there was something that could unite the people in joy.

In the midst of the roar of the crowd, Londo turned back to Senna. "It is you who has given me a gift, the gift of a daughter." He grasped her hand with tenderness. "Now, go and enjoy your Ascension party, Senna." He turned, looking for Vir. Finding him, Londo threw a hand on his Cotto's shoulder. "Remember what we talked about, Vir? You are the only one I trust," he smiled, genuine happiness animating his frame as he called for Palco to bring them drinks. Filling their hands with potent concoctions, Londo turned them toward the crowd and instructed them, very heartily, to enjoy themselves before he remembered himself, and taking Vir's drink, he threw it back himself. "You won't need that," he grinned. "Just water for Vir," he instructed the attendants.

Londo played royal host for the crowd into the wee hours of the morning until Timov found him, barefoot and inebriated, regaling a group of nobles with stories of his military exploits.

"Ah, the general of the house," he greeted her through the nobles, but as he saw her tense expression, he unsteadily made his way to her position. "What is wrong?" he asked her.

"Nothing is wrong," she straightened his sash and smiled. "I saw Senna earlier and congratulated her. I'm very happy – for her and for us."

Londo's face fell into mock seriousness. "There is a downside."

"What's that?" Timov asked.

"Her popularity may surpass my own," he chuckled. "She's already delighting the crowds," he waved toward the hall.

"I feel for Vir," Timov shook her head, "You gave him an impossible task tonight. Anyway, I will leave the younger generation to welcome the day as I am close to being one with the gods, so I'm going to retire. " she laughed.

Londo looked at her strangely before he grinned, "I so rarely hear you laugh. It is pleasant." He gazed at her before nodding to the guards.

Timov departed for her chamber, leaving the all night party that would last through the next night to continue without her.

Senna enjoyed herself throughout the evening, a new gentleman asking her to dance at each new song. The news that the Emperor had granted her choice in the matter of her marriage had traveled among the noble circles quickly, and the gentlemen knew they needed to present their best selves directly to her to find a match. She had already received countless offers in anticipation of her Ascension Day, but she had turned them all down. They were looking for prestige and power, but she was longing for a companion, not a man who would use her to his advantage.

Before long, her feet were aching from all the dancing, and she found her way back to Vir. He had been at her side all night, a silent sentry ensuring that Senna was never alone unless she wished it, returning quietly to her side as soon as she turned a new suitor away.

Senna had found her guards inconvenient burdens at times, but Vir was somehow different. He was helpful and kind, and somewhat ashamed and embarrassed at the role he was instructed to play as her chaperone. "I'm sorry," he had apologized repeatedly, "but you know Londo – he's just . . . protective. And he's afraid. He told me what happened . . . ."

"He told you?" Senna asked, her face paling.

"Don't – don't worry," Vir reassured her, "I would never break his trust – or yours. I just wanted you to know that – I mean, its your Ascension. I'm sure it's a great inconvenience having me following you around during your celebrations, and I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me, and if you don't, I won't bother you or get in your way."

"You're no bother, Lord Cotto."

Vir blinked with surprise. "Lord Cotto? That is my father – no one calls me that – just Vir, please."

"Vir, then." She patted his hand, "It is a great relief to have you here."

Senna had seen Vir, countless times in the palace, but she had never given him much thought. He had simply been like a worn but beloved book, always in its place and helpful when needed but never demanding attention.

Now, as her feet ached from all the suitors demanding her hand, she felt at ease in Vir's unobtrusive presence. "Why have you never married, Vir?" she asked him curiously.

"Oh, I guess I just never got around to it," Vir smiled weakly, shy at discussing his own situation.

"Your family never arranged a betrothal?"

"Oh, they did," Vir nodded. "Londo helped arrange it, actually, while we were on Babylon 5. I just did some things that . . ." His face fell. "Her family eventually decided to end it, and they were right. I'm not much good as husband material. I don't really have anything to offer."

Senna laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

Vir's face blanked with confusion. "No?"

Senna poked him playfuly, "You're the Royal Adjutant to the Emperor, Vir. You are one of the most powerful men in the country. You make more than most people on this planet, and yet," she pulled his sleeve, poking her finger through a hidden hole in his sleeve, "you don't seem to spend much of it on yourself."

"Oh!" Vir exclaimed, seeing the hole, "I'll change, I'm so sorry."

"Vir," Senna put a hand on his forearm. "It is all right," she laughed. "What are you doing with all your money if not spending it on a new suit?"

"I – I" he stammered, "I bought an estate in the West – a nice change from the palace. Since we've been having food shortages, I made sure it was a self-sufficient farm. It's even producing enough crops now to help the local village."

"Londo keeps you busy, though. I've never seen you take more than a day off," Senna replied.

Vir shrugged, "I hope to see it more, one day."

"I'd love to see it _one day_ ," Senna smiled at him. "Anyway, it's a nice change to see a man with the right priorities, for once."

Vir blushed and put out his hand to support her as Senna stood up. "Well," Senna giggled, "I suppose I should get back to this crowd."

Vir bowed to her, wondering why he had even mentioned his new estate, considering the trouble it could land him in.

* * *

Londo was as drunk as he'd ever been, and the keeper on his shoulder had passed out an hour before. Londo, too, had passed out from merriment for a short time at the main banquet table, and when he had come to, he had motioned to the guards that he was ready to retire for the night, his younger years of partying through the festivities well behind him. He made his way unsteadily to his private chambers where he would not bother Timov who he knew was already sleeping. The royal guards snapped their heels as they took up positions at the door to his residence chambers.

The dim lights enveloped Londo, allowing him to see the path to his bedchamber and he stumbled toward his bed, whistling cheerfully. A shadow passed over the dim light, and he looked up, a cross look on his face. "You!" he bellowed at the darkness. "Leave me alone," he mumbled, again heading for his bed. "I can't even enjoy the moments I am rid of you. That is what you want, eh?"

But with another few steps, the dim light revealed Shiv'kala standing in Mollari's path. "You have disobeyed us again. We are displeased."

"I have had enough of you," Londo walked to the wall, wrenching one of his ceremonial coutaris from a display. "And enough of your displeasure. And enough of your keepers and the pain you have inflicted on me and my people." He brandished the coutari, "You cannot stop me now that I am rid of my keeper. I may be slow," he pointed the unsteady coutari at Shiv'kala. "But I can be fast enough to slice you in two."

Shiv'kala did not move, his eyes dancing in the dimmed light. "You will regret disobeying us," Shiv'kala hissed, his eyes carefully following the movement of the coutari.

Londo lunged, intending to drive the coutari through Shiv'kala's midriff. But at the last moment, Shiv'kala nimbly stepped aside, and before Londo's alcohol-induced nerves could stop the forward motion of his coutari, he felt his blade run through flesh, the hilt burying itself in a body. " _Great Maker_ ," he cried, sinking to his knees, his fingers shaking, "Not again," he whispered. Londo felt the blood running down his coutari, and he looked aghast at the figure, bound and gagged before him, sliced open by his coutari.

"Reap the rewards of your disobedience," Shiv'kala said before disappearing into the darkness.


	16. The Noose

Senna kept pace with the other young revelers well into the next evening, but poor Vir could not help his tired eyelids, and slowly, his lips drooped until he was peacefully resting in the middle of the party. But what seemed like only moments later, he was roused from his slumber by furious shaking, and he woke with a start to find Senna peering into his face. "It looks like it is you that I need to put to bed," she laughed at him.

"Did I – did I fall asleep?" Vir asked, aghast, his eyes darting around the crowded ballroom.

"It's all right," Senna said, taking his arm. "It was just a few hours."

"A few hours?" Vir's jaw dropped, climbing to his feet as he glanced at the party still in full swing. "I'm sorry. I was supposed to be looking after you," he mumbled shyly.

"It's all right," Senna reassured him. "But I am worn out after all night on my feet!"

Vir accompanied Senna back to her chambers, the guards trailing dutifully behind them. As they arrived, Senna looked back down the hallway. "I don't quite want it to end," she smiled wistfully. "I guess this is why everyone remembers their Ascension so fondly."

Vir bowed, "Princess Senna." He looked up, smiling, "It really sounds nice doesn't it?"

Senna bobbed her head, "It sounds a lot better than people grasping for words when they can't decide whether being the Emperor's ward and also a member of a defunct house permitted me a title . . . . The consensus was that it did not."

"Oh, Senna," Vir said. "I am sorry. I didn't know . . . ."

"It isn't important," she shrugged. "Titles aren't important to me, even if they are important to everyone else. It was just another sign that I didn't have a place, a real family."

"Not anymore," Vir patted her hand. "The entire nation is your family now that you are royalty, and I've never seen Londo so thrilled as when you asked to join House Mollari."

Senna smiled, but glanced down the gaping hallway once more. "Even though I'm exhausted, I don't think I can sleep quite yet. Would you mind keeping me company for awhile now that you've had a nap?"

Vir's cheeks flushed, and he twisted his hands nervously. "I'm really, really sorry about that . . . ."

"Vir," she put a gentle hand on his, "it's fine. Really. It was nice to have someone care about me and not to breathe down my neck. Anyway, I'd love to hear that story – about what you did to cause your engagement to end? I mean, if you would like to come in?"

"Oh, I don't think I should . . . ." Vir began to protest, but Senna grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside, plopping him down on a couch in a sitting room adjacent to her bedchamber.

"Now tell me all about it," she put her chin in her hands, ready to listen.

Against his protests and his better judgment, Vir told Senna of his work as Abraham Lincolni and his work to free Narns. He told her how Londo had discovered it, and how the repercussions had upset his engagement with Lyndisty, and how, after some time, their families had come to a mutual agreement to call off the engagement.

"That was very brave," Senna said at the conclusion of Vir's story.

"Well," he shook his head, "I don't think that . . . ."

"No," Senna rested a hand on his arm. "Really, Vir. It was extraordinary to put your life, your reputation, and your engagement on the line like that. And for what? Something no one even knows about. You didn't do it for the glory – you did it because it was the right thing to do. How many people know?"

"I don't know," Vir admitted, "only a handful."

Senna leaned forward and kissed Vir.

"Oh – oh," Vir pulled back. "I – I . . . ." Vir's face reddened again as he read the situation. "Londo asked me to look out for you, not to . . . ."

"Am I not an adult, Vir?" Senna asked.

"Well, I mean, you are _tonight_ . . ." he mumbled, looking at his feet.

Senna took his hand, "I like you, Vir. You're different – different than all of those men out there," she waved a hand toward the ballroom. "You are interested in right and wrong, not just money and power. As for your duties, Londo sent you to protect me against things I didn't want to happen."

"I'm not sure that's how he'd interpret his orders," Vir protested.

"Do _you_ like _me_?" Senna asked inquisitively.

"Of course I _like_ you," Vir replied, "You are intelligent and passionate and a natural leader, and any man would be fortunate to have you on his arm, but . . . ." Before he could say any more, Senna had pulled him into another kiss and after a moment of flailing, Vir felt himself returning her affection.

* * *

Londo stumbled to his knees, pulling the small figure into his arms, blood spreading over his clothes, staining them a dark crimson.

"No, no, no," he cried, tears mingling with the blood. Londo looked into the lifeless eyes, and rage filled him with anger, but Shiv'kala had wisely departed, leaving Londo alone with the body.

Londo closed his eyes, trying to unwind the present with his will, but every time he opened his eyes, the same scene lay before him. Finally, his stomach turning over, he placed one hand on the body, and withdrew his coutari with the other. There was less blood now, but it still seeped forth from the wound, and Traco Jaddo's lifeless eyes stared back at him even as his lifeblood pooled on the floor.

Londo untied the boy's gag and cut his hands free. When the small, lifeless body was free of its restraints, Londo cradled the boy against his chest, rocking the body as tears fell down his cheeks. "I'm sorry Urza," he whispered, "it has happened again, and again I could not stop it. First to you, now to Traco," his voice cracked with emotion.

"He was just a boy," Londo shouted into the darkness before his voice fell to a whisper, "just a boy."

Through the long night, Londo cradled the body, knowing there was nothing that could be done. Though the joyous laughter from Senna's Ascension party floated into his chamber, all joy from the occasion had been siphoned from him by the sudden turn of events. His joyful evening had turned into bitter melancholy, and he could no longer feel anything but Traco's blood beneath his fingertips.

When his tears had dried, Londo gathered himself and searched his waistcoat for a piece of paper before the keeper awoke from its alcohol-induced slumber. With gritted teeth, he dipped his finger in the boys blood and traced a drawing on the paper. When he was done with his handiwork, he stared at it for some time. "You will not be forgotten," he said quietly, fingering the paper, "and this will be your revenge." When the blood ink had dried, he folded it and deposited it in to his waistcoat again.

At last, he rose, wiping the blood, sweat, and tears from his face with his sleeve. Londo walked slowly, his age weighing on his shoulders as he made his way to shower and change. As he exited his bath, his image restored, his face was still drawn and weary, but he stopped at his private wet bar and threw back a generous glass of brivari.

Returning to the hall in silence, he placed his bloodied clothes with the body and wrapped them in his clean bed sheets, until little Traco's body was packaged in a thick white envelope of sheets, all traces of the blood tucked away.

Londo stared at the pile for some time before he called two of his most trusted guards. "You will take this and under cover of night, bury it in the royal cemetery behind the gardens," he instructed the guards. "You will tell no one ," he commanded them, "and I need you to do a few other things." After he had completed his instructions to the guards, he gestured to the body, "Be gentle with him."

The soldiers noted the Emperor's shaking jaw as he said the last words, his eyes never leaving the small package, and they bowed their acquiescence.

* * *

When Timov awoke, she found the palace bustling with activity, handfuls of revelers still lining the hallways. Beside them, the palace staff was attempting to clean up the remnants of party, which had spread from the ballroom out into the grounds. Beyond the palace gates, the country had awoken to the news of their new princess, and crowds had gathered to show their affection and approval, leaving Centauri roses, starlaces, and moonshades outside in her honor.

As Timov took reports from the palace staff, she ran into Urza's niece. "Have you seen Traco?" his mother asked offhandly. "I suspect he's playing in one of the palace rooms, but I haven't been able to find him yet."

"I will have the guards look for him," Timov smiled, "and I'll send him to you when we find him."

The search began as the festivities wrapped up, but still no trace of young Traco was found. No one was particularly worried. The palace was the safest place Traco could go missing, and no one would harm a young boy under the Emperor's protection.

* * *

Late the next day, Londo finally emerged from his private chambers. As he finally exited his quarters, Dunsenny noticed that Londo wore a grim look, but as soon as he saw Dunsenny, it vanished as he threw an arm over the elderly man's shoulder. "What have I missed?"

"The family is keen for the brunch Your Majesty decided to host in honor of Princess Senna's Ascension," Dunsenny commented.

"Then we shall go there straight away," he replied. There, he chatted amicably with his family, courtiers, and staff before Dunsenny saw the Empress approach Londo.

"Have you seen Traco?" Timov asked the Emperor. "He hasn't been seen since the festivities. I've sent he guards 'round to search for him."

"Eh – no," Londo stammered. "Surely he is playing nearby?"

Timov surveyed the room, "In all likelihood, but what if he's gotten himself locked in one of those unused rooms? Perhaps I should double the search."

"Do that," Londo nodded his agreement. "His mother will be worried if he does not turn up. Keep me informed of their progress," he instructed, looking agitated. "Now, my dear, if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to." And he vanished again.

* * *

The next day, as the palace routine was returning to normal, Londo was about to order dinner served when a soldier approached him and whispered in his ear.

Londo set his brivari down quietly, and after a moment, he nodded to the soldier.

The soldier stepped forward to address the guests in the private dining room, "Young Master Traco has been located. It seems he found one of Emperor Cartagia's hidden rooms, along with all of its . . . devices. I'm afraid young Master Traco accidentally set off one of the devices, and . . . I regret to inform Your Majesty that Master Traco did not survive."

Timov put a shocked hand to her breast and immediately turned to Urza's niece, who let out a wail of sorrow as she clung to her sister and Timov.

Londo stared at the floor. "We will handle all of the arrangements," he mumbled, and then he turned to console Traco's mother. Timov took the distraught mother and aunt to their rooms to reassure them. After Timov saw to Traco's mother and his aunt, she returned to Londo's side. Seeing anguish painted over his features, she said, "No one blames you for what happened, Londo. Everyone know Cartagia had several of those rooms, and where they are and how to get in are anyone's guess - the staff call them the lost rooms of horrors."

"That may be so," Londo replied, visibly trying to rein in his emotions. "Nevertheless, it _is_ my fault. I will have children banned from the palace to prevent this sort of tragedy in the future."

Timov sighed, "That's a bit of an overreaction, husband. Traco was a fine young man, and he will be desperately missed. But you cannot close the palace to children forever. It is their country as well."

"Perhaps not." Londo glanced at his wife, "But it no longer a place for children. Perhaps one day, when enough time has passed to heal this wound, then I will consider it. In the meantime, I will leave it in the hands of the gods. If they will it, they will repopulate Urza's house with Jaddos and Deradis. Until then, it shall remain closed to children."

"Londo . . ." Timov tried to interrupt him.

"It is decided," he said firmly.

* * *

That night, Timov perceived that Londo held her closer to his side, and she could feel his pain and anguish at the boy's death seeping from him. He woke every night in a cold sweat, terror evident in his eyes as he breathed hard, and she wondered if there wasn't something to his night terrors, after all.

On the fifth day after Traco had been discovered by the guards, Traco's funeral party was held, and Londo could not bring himself to celebrate the boy's life as was Centauri custom. Though he attended the funeral, Timov noticed he drank more and said less.

Pulling her aside during the festivities, he told her, "I need to talk to you about something - something important. Not now," he continued, "but after the funeral rites have finished."

"Of course," she replied, wondering what was agitating him so much.


	17. Betrayal

Only days after Traco's funeral celebration, Londo called Timov to the throne room.

"I would like to speak to my wife alone," Londo glanced at the guards, and they quickly disappeared. Turning, he gestured toward Timov who was waiting quietly.

"I have something to ask of you. It will not be an easy thing."

A raised eyebrow was the only reply to his remark.

"Eh . . ." he stammered, "our nation is in crisis, and its sovereign should be among the people: listening to their problems, seeing what must be done, giving the people comfort."

"It is about time, Londo, that you did these things," Timov replied archly.

"No," he shook his head, "I cannot go. There is too much to be done here. I need someone who can move about the planet as my goodwill ambassador, someone whom I trust." Londo finally met Timov's eyes. "And, much as it may surprise both of us, I trust no one more than you. I wish you to go on my behalf. And I wish you to take Senna with you."

There was a prolonged silence while Timov weighed Londo's words. "And this is a request or a command?"

Londo coughed, "I have learned from long years of experience, my dear, that my commands to you fall on deaf ears." Londo's shoulders sagged as he contemplated the ground, "The Republic has need of you. Will you do this thing for our people?"

Timov studied his face carefully before replying. "It is rather odd timing, wouldn't you say?"

"What is odd about it?"

"You mean to tell me," she said shrewdly, "that this has nothing to do with Traco's death?" She saw Londo flinch at the mention of Traco. "You've been upset, distracted, and short-tempered - beyond your usual temper, I mean - since it happened. Or perhaps it has to do with our little conversation the other day?"

Londo pursed his lips in disagreement. "Why would it have anything to do with that? You've never held back before, so my skin must have worn thin if you think it would bother me now."

Timov snorted, "For all the things you are, Londo Mollari, thick-skinned is not one of them." She waited patiently for his usual annoyed retort but received none. At last, she asked, "And how long do you intend for this arrangement to carry on?"

"A few months I suspect," Londo replied, gazing out the window. "Considering the state of the Republic, this will require an extended effort. There is much need among the people - and seeing you and Senna among them will give them hope. But for an extensive travel schedule, the Summer Palace will be a better base of operations. I will have it reopened for your exclusive use. You may staff it with whomever you would like. I will ask, however, that you send advance copies of your schedule to my office for approval."

"Londo," Timov crossed her arms in annoyance, "there are no less than 578 palaces that are still standing - all in various states of disrepair. Which one, exactly, are you referring to as the 'Summer Palace.'"

Londo studied the palace floor for a moment before he replied, "Whichever you choose."

"I see," Timov said suspiciously, letting the last word linger in the air. "And what of you?"

Londo looked up sharply at Timov, "What do you mean, me?"

"I am already serving the Republic's interest by providing you with companionship, am I not? Or are you simply sending me away?"

Timov saw the tell tale signs of annoyance written on Londo's face, and she felt vindicated. At least _he knew_ that _she knew_ perfectly well that he was sending her away.

"We must all make our sacrifices," Londo replied evenly. "The people have need of you and Senna. Her schooling is done now, so traveling among our people will be good for her. And when the Summer Palace is ready, perhaps I can come and spend time with the both of you there. It would be nice to get away from the Capital City. Though it is like a second home to me, I find spending all of my time in this palace is stifling. Besides, you will be in constant contact with me. I wish to know all that you learn outside the palace. You will be my eyes and ears among the people."

His last comments set Timov's mind at ease, and at last she sighed, "On one condition. I will not have my schedule dictated to by that toadie Prime Minister, Palazzo. And I will not speak to your minions. I will speak to you and no one else. You will personally handle decisions concerning this matter. And what in the world are you smiling about?"

Londo grunted his acquiescence to her request. "I will personally handle the decisions, but I am sending Vir with you to see to all the arrangements and coordinate with my office here."

"Oh?" Timov said. "And who else do you plan on sending along on this parade?"

"Some time ago," Londo replied, "you mentioned Dunsenny had earned his retirement, but I do not think he will acquiesce to it easily even though he has been looking more and more feeble since he came to the palace. I will send him with you, and you will see to it that his duties are diminished until he is comfortable retiring at last."

"Palco will take over his duties?" she enquired.

"Yes," Londo responded.

"Well," Timov threw her hands together approvingly. "At least you haven't taken leave of all your senses - and speaking of Emanio, you should appoint him Master of the House. The gods know one has been needed for the palace for some time, especially if this venture will require my absence for anything more than a few days. If I am not here to oversee the running of the palace, I would trust only him with it. He has shown a great aptitude for handling the palace's affairs."

Londo nodded solemnly, "You may consider it done. In fact, I saw him this morning, and he showed me your draft schedule - it is extensive, Timov, but you will be busy, and I know that you will enjoy that."

Timov watched her husband closely. "I agree with you that it is time for you to reach out to the people. They have been suffering under the sanctions, and I would like to be of use. When do I leave?"

"I would like you to speak with the local leaders in the South to try to quell the protests there as soon as possible. You will leave as soon as I announce your new duties, which will be within the hour."

Timov blinked in surprise. "Within the hour? Then I suppose I should pack," Timov gathered her dress as she prepared to leave, but Londo grasped her hand, preventing her from going. He held it quietly for some time before telling her, "Take care of yourself, Timov. Remember that your duty is to the country. Do not worry about me."

"I shall worry about whatever I wish to worry about," she replied briskly. "Now, surely you will not forget to return to the Great House for Founder's day next month? Your ancestors will be rolling over in their graves if you miss it again, as will the priests. And it will give Senna and I a chance to fill you in on all that has happened if we aren't able to return to the palace before then."

Londo's expression flickered briefly. "I would enjoy that." Londo brought her hand to his chest before he kissed it, "Thank you," he said with genuine sincerity.

"For what?" Timov said primly. "I haven't done anything yet."

"Yes," he replied softly, "you have. You have set my mind at ease." Straightening to his full height, he pointed at her, "Now, I am sending a heavy guard with you and Senna. Do not do anything foolish."

"So, do nothing that you would regularly do, is that it?"

Londo sighed. "You are the most contrarian woman I know," he said with a strange look that gave Timov so much pause that she commended his exact words to memory.

"Now," he said as he rose, "stay out of politics."

* * *

"Everything is ready?" Londo stood next to his throne, awaiting a response.

Phylakios snapped his heels together, bowing deeply before the Emperor. "It is, Your Majesty."

"We have had our differences, you and I. Yes?"

The soldier's eyes darted nervously around the throne room. "Yes?" he stammered.

"Oh all right," Londo waved a hand at him, "Then let us say that _I_ have had my differences with _you_." Londo grasped his hands behind his back and paced behind the throne. "My wife tells me that you are an honorable man. It may be that she is slowly feeding me a poison that bends my will to her, but I believe her. She will be leaving on a trip shortly, and you will be in charge of the security of her entire entourage - that includes Senna - and my Royal Adjutant, Vir Cotto, as well as my wife's staff, which is large enough to break the banks of several small planets. In any event, I am putting you in charge of their well-being."

Phylakios bowed his head in acquiescence.

"Good," Londo nodded. "You are authorized to take all measures to ensure their safety. Because they will be traveling extensively, I am authorizing you to function independently of the palace. I understand what it is like to have all your plans ruined by someone in an office millions of miles away, and their safety is my utmost concern. Do you understand your primary mission?"

"Perfectly," Phylakios replied crisply.

"It will not be a sightseeing cruise, I'm afraid," Londo walked over to the soldier. "Before the day is out, I would wager a good sum that my wife will lose her temper. And since I will not be there to enjoy it - you will have to deal with her anger. Do you think," he asked lightly, "your trenches are dug deep enough to handle such volleys?"

Phylakios pulled his shoulders back further. "A Centauri does not surrender, even in the face of cannons, Majesty."

Londo pursed his lips with a nod. "Good," he shook the soldier's shoulders amicably. "Better you than me." Withdrawing a small envelope from his waistcoat, Londo handed it to Phylakios. "This has your orders in it," he tapped the envelope lightly, and Londo dismissed him with a smile.

* * *

It did not take long for word to reach the entourage that they would be travelling shortly, and the palace bustled with servants and aides hurrying to ensure every detail was seen to on such short notice.

Before dark fell, the traveling entourage was assembled, their royal carriage awaiting them. Phylakios stood watchfully nearby, ensuring the logistics were organized and the loading of passengers and cargo was orderly.

Londo strolled out onto the palace grounds as the final preparations were being completed to bid the entourage a safe journey. "Ah, Senna," he took his charge into an exuberant hug. "To travel to all the most beautiful parts of Centauri Prime - it will be most exciting, yes?"

Senna couldn't control her smile, "Yes, it will be wonderful. So many places to see, and to accompany Her Majesty - I'm delighted to go. It's all been a whirlwind since my Ascension. I'm nervous, but I will try to do well in my new role as an official representative of the Crown."

"You will do splendidly," Londo boomed, and seeing Vir at her elbow, he said, "I wish I could go with you. But in my place, I am sending Vir. He will ensure all of the details of your schedules, and look after you for me - just as he did at your Ascension."

Vir stood at Senna's side, his eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, um, Londo - I - I," his voice fell to a whisper, "I have something to tell you."

"Well, what is it?" Londo asked inquisitively.

Vir's eyes darted around nervously. "Well . . . that is to say . . . ." Outside of his work duties, he and Senna had been spending every spare moment together, and Vir felt terrible that he had not yet told Londo about his relationship with Senna, but he was also nervous, unsure of how Londo would take the news.

Vir glanced at Senna, whose eyes had also grown wide with warning, and Vir glanced back at Londo, who was waiting patiently for him to respond. "I . . . was going to tell you on Senna's Ascension night that . . . ."

"Out with it, Vir," Londo commanded him. "The carriages will run out of fuel soon."

"I was going to tell you that . . . I . . . ." Vir fumbled for words as his nerve gave out, and he tried to backtrack. "I . . . fell asleep at Senna's Ascension," he said quickly, gulping away his nerves. "For a little while."

"You fell asleep?" Londo's face darkened for a moment before he laughed, throwing one hand around Senna's shoulders and the other around Vir's shoulders as he accompanied them to their carriage. "Don't worry, Vir. Senna enjoyed herself, and that is what is important. But you will ensure her suitors around the country keep a respectful distance, yes? You will watch out for her for me."

Vir glanced at Senna, nervously twisting his fingers, and he could see her urging him to stay calm. Vir hated lying to Londo, but he couldn't muster the words to tell him. _When we get back_ , Vir promised himself. _I'll tell him then_.

"Yes, of course I will," Vir smiled weakly before ducking into the carriage after Senna.

* * *

As Londo's eyes followed the entourage disappearing through the palace gates, the smile fell slowly from his face.

Having seen the melancholy descend over Londo's features, Emanio delicately broke into the Emperor's thoughts. "Majesty?"

Londo shook his head, blinking away any thoughts he had at the sight of the disappearing carriages. "Yes?"

"They will be back soon," Emanio offered cheerfully.

"No," Londo put a hand on Emanio's shoulder as his eyes returned to the last glimpses of the carriages, "they will not be back at all."

Emanio gaped at the Emperor's words, snapping his jaw shut as the Emperor turned back toward the palace.

"Now," Londo said, "we have some things to do. Call a cabinet meeting."

* * *

After the Cabinet Meeting, as the Emperor exited, Minister Palazzo ran after him. "Majesty," he said breathlessly, stopping Londo in the hallway.

"We all hope Her Majesty will return soon," Palazzo bobbed his head.

"Do you really?" Londo asked, recalling Palazzo's reaction to Timov's new duties at the cabinet meetings years before.

"Indeed," Palazzo said, impervious to the Emperor's thoughts. "Only she has been able to rein in the other ministers. And if they chair the meetings, they'll hijack the agendas, like they have always done. Unless, of course, you would like me to chair the meetings in her absence."

"If I require your help," Londo said sharply, "I will tell you."

"Eh," Palazzo struggled to change the subject. "About the meeting - an excellent decision today, Majesty. The country will be in your debt."

Londo turned on his heel, "I have serious reservations _about that_ ," he growled in Palazzo's face, leaving Palazzo speechless as he strode away.

* * *

"He _didn't_ ," Timov watched the news reporter on the carriage's passenger screen, aghast. Around her, Senna, Dunsenny, Phylakios, and Illyia were gathered watching the news. "How _could_ he?" Timov curled her draft schedule into a ball and threw it at the screen, frustration enraging her.

Vir had stepped out to talk to the carriage pilot, and he returned to the carriage's lounge to see Timov's features twisted into anger. "What's wrong, Your Majesty?" he asked.

"It's Londo," Timov pointed to the screen. "He _knew_. He _knew_ he was going to do this before we left."

"Do what?" Vir looked at the shocked faces staring at the screen.

Timov calmed herself before answering. "He's declared telepaths an enemy of the state. They are to be rounded up and separated from the general population at once. And with Palazzo running unchecked as Prime Minister, the gods only know what will be done to them once they are arrested and interrogated."

"He - he _wouldn't_ ," Vir protested. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Londo has been doing a lot of things that don't make any sense," Timov said angrily, her voice strained. "He lets the ministers run rampant with the most inane ideas, he allowed this dreadful disagreement with the Alliance to get out of hand to the point of war while his own people are suffering from the sanctions and starving as he diverts resources to the military, and now he's letting Palazzo control the direction of his government."

Timov took a breath, "I've thought for some time that something was wrong - that one of his ministers was blackmailing him, but he assured me that I did not need to worry about his ministers. And yet . . . ."

Vir blinked, as he remembered his exchange with Londo after the order on aliens. "Londo once said something to me as if his office was being bugged. Something that only I would understand."

"What was it, Vir?" Timov asked curiously.

Vir stared at the group gathered around the screen before he looked at the floor and explained Londo's request for Abraham Lincolni to help the alien detainees.

"That doesn't make any sense," Timov glared as Vir finished his explanation. "He could just order an end to it himself."

"I - I thought he felt boxed in, politically, because Palazzo said the Centaurum was in favor of the alien detentions, so he wanted me to do it covertly." Vir said. "But, it doesn't explain why he didn't just tell me what he wanted to do. It was as if his office was bugged, but the security forces scan it every few hours, so surely that isn't it either."

Timov considered this before looking at the rest of the group. "Dunsenny, you've known Londo longer that any of us, even me. What are your thoughts on his behavior?"

Dunsenny leaned forward in his seat, his back bowed with age. "His Majesty," Dunsenny offered in a quivering voice, "has never been one for seclusion, but now he disappears for days on end. He no longer allows staff in his quarters to . . . assist him with their regular duties. I believe the strain of office has taken its toll."

"And it usually ends with blood in his laundry hamper," Timov murmured, remembering the words of the staff some years before.

Phylakios cleared his throat. "Majesty," he addressed Timov, "The Emperor gave me this envelope before we left. He said his orders would be inside. Perhaps the contents may be of use now." Phylakios gave her the envelope that he had opened when he had reached the transport.

Timov took the envelope and pulled out the contents. On the small page, torn from a book, a bloody drawing was sketched. "What is it?" Timov asked.

"I cannot say," Phylakios replied. "It is hard to make out."

Timov flipped it over. He had not written anything on the page, only the drawings scribbled in blood, marked with spots.

"I analyzed the blood," Phylakios offered. "It belongs to Young Master Traco," he added quietly.

Senna gasped and Timov put a hand on her breast.

Quiet overwhelmed the group. No one dared say anything, and the only noise was the babbling from the news in the background.

Senna had been staring at the floor, but she looked up and broke the silence at last. "There is another plausible explanation."

"What is it?" Timov asked quietly.

Senna grasped Vir's hand, a gesture Timov saw from the corner of her eye. "The people say that the gods have cursed Centauri rulers with madness. First with Emperor Cartagia . . . then Regent Virini . . . perhaps the madness has taken Emperor Mollari as well."

Timov considered this thoughtfully. "You know, his last words to me - he knows exactly how to get under my skin - he said I was the most contrarian woman he knew, and then he told me to stay out of politics, as if goading me to get into politics." She paused, shaking her head. "Madness - it would explain so much, and yet he _seems_ in possession of his faculties." She inhaled deeply, trying to release her emotions. "It is hard to reconcile his behavior, but it might explain why he has refused to see a doctor for some time, and why he would never be able to tell anyone - even me - about it. Not only would his ego be unable to handle it - it would put him in an impossible position with respect to the country. It is possible he needs help, and it is also possible he is unable to help himself."

The group was quiet again, an uneasiness settling over the carriage.

"There is no definitive proof of either theory - but it really doesn't matter what the cause is," Timov said at last, lifting her chin. "Londo was right about one thing. He told me before I left that my duty was to the country. And I cannot allow him to let Palazzo run this country into a xenophobic, narrow-minded reign of terror. And if he was in his right mind, he would agree with me." The Empress's eyes blazed. "I cannot be a party to his destruction of the country from the inside out. We shall oppose these actions."

"That's _treason_ ," Illyia gasped.

"Then treason it is," Timov said pointedly.


	18. History Evolving

****At the Outskirts of Known Space Near the Rim****

"BLASPHEMY!" G'Kar roared, storming back toward the ship's cockpit.

"I'm sure they didn't understand what they were doing," Dr. Franklin followed the striding Narn with a sympathetic frown on his face.

In an instant, G'Kar turned on his heel, his crimson eyes glistening with fury as he faced Stephen. "It was a gift!"

"Look," Stephen tried to calm down his companion, "They cheered when __you__ destroyed __their__ gift __after__ they set fire to your gift, so maybe it is the way of their culture . . . ."

"It's __uncivilized__ ," G'Kar growled. "They were said to be a religious people, yet they destroyed the words of G'Quan!"

"At least you have another copy," Dr. Franklin said calmly.

"Another copy?" G'Kar was practically shaking. "Are you aware that it takes an apprentice three years to copy one Book of G'Quan? And __that__ is merely retracing the sacred text," he said emphatically. "The paper is manufactured by the flesh of the __Guoyam__ tree, which takes a lifetime to mature, so it is said among my people that it takes __two and a half__ lifetimes to craft such words: one for the teacher to mature enough to teach such things, and one for the __Guayam__ to mature, and a half for the student to become old enough to trace the words."

A slight smile crept over Franklin's face, "Maybe the Narn should look into digital copies - for alien races at least."

G'Kar's inhaled fury. "We're leaving this planet!" he announced at last.

"That's good," Franklin peered out the port window with concern on his face, "because that mob out there has only gotten bigger."

In a heartbeat, G'Kar assumed the stern posture of a pilot, and the old flyer abruptly heaved into the air, sending Dr. Franklin sprawling across the deck and grabbing for the nearest handhold. As they violently lifted toward the atmosphere, Franklin recovered himself and carefully made his way to the other seat to strap himself in. His knuckles turned white as gravity pounded against him while he secured his buckles. Finally strapped in, Franklin rubbed his temple where he had caught a piece of the floor in the sudden jolt upward.

"Have you ever heard the term 'road rage'?" he asked.

Without moving his head, G'Kar looked at Franklin out of the corner of his eye for a moment before returning to the task in front of him.

Chuckling, Franklin threw up his hands, "Ok, ok." He pulled up a star chart on his console. "Where to next?"

"That little incident," G'Kar said stiffly, "reminded me that it has too long since I have been back to Narn. As interesting as exploring the Rim has been, i think it is time for me to return home for a short time. Although," he paused, "I am afraid of what I might find."

Stephen studied his companion in silence for a moment, his thoughts retracing their adventures visiting a dozen worlds. "After the Drakh plague was eradicated on Earth, all I wanted to do was get off that planet for awhile. But we've been out here so long now, that I agree - it's time to go home and share what we've found. We've seen some incredible things - technology we didn't know existed, rare stellar phenomena, and civilizations no known person has encountered. I swear the __Makais__ might even be a forgotten variety of the First Ones."

"Perhaps they are related to the Vorlons," G'Kar added.

"That's what I'm talking about," Stephen nodded, "they're inscrutable."

"If they are of the First Ones, they didn't get the memo that everyone else left," G'Kar mused.

"Maybe because they move their entire __Makais__ planet - or massive ship - or whatever you can call that thing they live on - at will. Maybe the other First Ones couldn't find them," Stephen shrugged. "I mean - __we__ will never find them again."

G'Kar took his eyes from the panel to glance at Franklin, "That seemed to be the exact idea they were going for. And anyway," he said looking back at the stars in their path, "I know that feeling - the yearning to be free, without being bombarded by others all the time. But like it or not, I still have a responsibility to my people - and I miss the night skies under Narn."

Franklin agreed, "Yeah," he said, "me too. I've got a dozen submissions for publications documenting our journeys. We have to share what we've found."

G'Kar smiled slightly and put up one finger, "Not __everything,__ " he said slyly.

" _ _No, no, no__ ," Franklin said, remembering their adventures, "definitely not __everything.__ What is with you and aliens, anyway?"

Propelling the flyer out of the atmosphere, G'Kar laughed. "Just enjoying the fruits of the universe, Dr. Franklin. You should try it."

Franklin shook his head, "I've had my share of relationships end badly, thank you. I'll stick to safer ground. You know - ones where at least I know they don't eat their mate after a wild night."

"Humans are so frail," G'Kar said with a tsk. "The __Trysais__ were just being playful."

In the silence that followed, Franklin mapped a route home from their current position, his finger resting on the screen. "G'Kar . . . ." his voice lingered. "How much do the Narn know about the Drakh?"

"The Drakh?" G'Kar shook his head, "Very little. We shared all we had with Earth during the plague. It's lucky a cure was found just before the virus activated into its fatal stage."

Franklin peered at his screen more intently. "Although we found the cure to the Drakh plague, we never did find out much about them - what happened to them after Z'ha'dum, what their strategic goals are outside of the Shadow's influence, about their physiology beyond a few visual encounters people have had with them, or their history. But I was reading some old logs that said the Centauri and the Drakh once fought a few centuries ago over Seti IV, and it is not __close__ , but it is also not __too__ far to be manageable from our next closest jump point. It might be worth our while to swing by and see if there is anything interesting there. We're so far out on the rim, I doubt many expeditions have done any real investigation of Seti IV. From what I understand, it is basically a dead system now."

G'Kar contemplated this a moment before he nodded his approval. "During the quarantine, the Narn fleets spotted a few of their ships, and they were lost in hyperspace almost immediately. One thing we know from the plague is that the Drakh have long memories - and they are out for blood after the Shadows left - blood that they were denied when the plague's cure was found. I suspect we have not yet heard the last from them - they may cause us trouble for generations to come. Perhaps Seti IV will give us some insight into them."

Dr. Franklin read out the vector coordinates, and G'Kar maneuvered the flyer, setting a course for Seti IV.

* * *

Timov gazed at the others gathered around her in the royal carriage. "I need to know if each of you are with me."

The silence stretched out, enveloping the room.

"You may carry on," Timov said shrilly, "watching our people descend upon one another until there is no one left. The lower classes will have starved, the aliens will have been driven out, and the telepaths will have been slaughtered . . . or we can work together and see each of them restored to their proper place in Centauri society."

Seeing Ilyia's troubled face, Timov added, "Have you all forgotten that the telepath gene is linked to the gene of seerers and oracles? Inevitably, they descend from the same families. Would you allow them to be rounded up as enemies of the state as well?" Our national treasures?"

"I agree with everyone you have said," Vir said, quiet determination emphasizing his words, "it's just that . . . if Londo has gone insane - if he isn't in his right mind - how can we . . . can we . . . ."

"How can we plot against his life?" Senna finished the thought, her voice quivering.

Apprehending the concern, Timov put up a hand. "I'm not suggesting that we plot against Londo's life, only that we act to safeguard the populations his administration is targeting. In our official positions, we are uniquely suited to do so, and as abhorrent as I find Londo's actions, I do not believe his intentions would ever be to destroy the Republic unless he loses the full control of his senses. He loves his country, and he believes whatever he is doing will safeguard it, even if his choices are deeply flawed."

"But if he acts like Cartagia . . . " Illyia pointed out.

"If it comes to that," Timov said with a frown, "then we will reevaluate our options."

Vir thought of his own role in Cartagia's downfall, and he gulped his anxiousness away. Thinking of all that he had been through with Londo, anger at being placed in such an unfair position gripped his thoughts, but he knew it was Londo, himself, who had placed Vir in such a position, and it was Londo, himself, who had pled with Vir years before to bring Cartagia down in the face of the young Emperor's cruelty and madness. "I'm with you," Vir said, emotion rising in his chest.

Nodding briskly, Timov turned to the others.

Senna rose, emboldened by Vir's words. "Even the personal pain of losing a newly gained father is not enough to sacrifice innocent lives. I am with you as well. If Vir agrees, we can use his property to safeguard the telepaths we can get to safety."

"What choice do we have?" Illyia said, biting her lip, "we must do what we must do."

"Dunsenny?" Timov faced the elderly servant. "What are your thoughts?"

Dunsenny hunched forward, his face twisted into an inscrutable expression. Wheezing, he coughed, "I have served His Majesty my entire life. Never has my family been accused of unfaithfulness to House Mollari," he looked away from the Empress. "My own nephew is at his side now, and my family's fortune follows his own. How can I raise my hand against him when he is the choice of the gods to rule the people?" He looked stricken at the thought.

"Dunsenny," Timov said to the old man, "I am not asking that you join the efforts, only that you do not oppose us. If I do not have the support of everyone in this room, we cannot proceed, and many will needlessly die. And if madness has gripped Londo, his chance of being able to recover without intervention is . . . unlikely."

Reluctantly, the old man nodded. "I will not oppose it," he whispered.

Nodding, Timov addressed the group again, "We must create a network that is capable of securing, transporting, and protecting the targeted populations. Such a group would need proper training to ward off the security forces in the event of attacks. And if things take a turn for the worse, we would already have a backup plan," she added darkly.

"We don't know anything about building a trained military," Vir said starkly.

"No, but we happen to have an expert in our midst," Timov turned to Phylakios. "He personally trained all Centauri cadets at the Legionnaire's Academy, and he is a foremost authority on military tactics. He is perhaps the best equipped soldier on Centauri Prime to outwit the Security Forces because he knows all of their tricks."

Phylakios bowed his head. "A properly organized underground force would also be equipped for diversionary tactics should the need arise, Your Majesty."

Timov clasped her hands in thought. "Fortune smiles on us - and it is a sign that the gods are with us - for Londo has sent us to the South to speak with the leaders of the protests. As all of you know, the South is an area known for it revolts, rebellions, and insurgencies, so it is no wonder the South is the seat of the protests against Londo's proclamations against aliens and telepaths. We will begin by talking to the leaders of the protests."

"It will be hard to win over their trust," Senna mused, "considering our position."

"You may leave such things to me," Phylakios stepped forward. "I have an asset that allows me to travel where you should not and to speak with people who would not listen to you." He pulled his papers from his chest pocket.

"You are a slave?" Vir said incredulously as he peered over the papers.

Straightening, Phylakios responded, "But no less a patriot, Lord Cotto."

"No, no," Vir threw up his palms, "I didn't mean it that way - you just . . . the way you carry yourself . . . your position . . . I would have never thought . . . ."

Senna put a hand on his arm, "Vir has said many times that he wishes he could carry himself with your confidence like - and I'm quoting now - 'like a true Centauri noble.'"

Phylakios snapped his heels and inclined his head, "A high compliment, Lord Cotto."

"Just Vir, please," Vir smiled.

"Since we are agreed," Timov gestured, cutting off the banter, "we should all get a good night's sleep. If we can win the protest leaders over to our cause, we will be well on the way to organizing our fledgling network."

* * *

The small group disbursed for their private quarters located along the wings of the royal carriage, and Phylakios headed for his own room.

Unbuttoning his uniform, his pulled out the Emperor's drawing marked in blood. Flipping on a dim light, he studied it for some time. Cocking his head, he turned it clockwise and then again. On the third turn, he blinked abruptly, flipping on the computer station in his quarters and pulled up a map of the Great Plain of Centauri Prime, the planet's major continent. His eyes darted between the drawing and the screen, and his finger traced the drawing with one hand and the map with the other. At last, he sat back, contemplating his discovery. Setting the drawing down, he circled his room in thought before returning to the desk and peering at the drawing again. Satisfied, he folded it back into its envelope and retired for the night.

* * *

Since last recorded contact with Seti IV by explorers decades earlier, its sun had faded even further from the horizon. But although the planet was slowly dying from the fading sun, cold dwelling plants and creatures still abounded.

G'Kar set the flyer down in a small clearing, surrounded by towering cold-dwelling plants that reached toward the distant sun, creating a canopy that crystallized the surface. According to Dr. Franklin's research, the site had been the largest occupation site on the planet's surface, and it was placed adjacent to a plateau that reached above the towering forest.

G'Kar and Dr. Franklin emerged from their flyer. The distant sun threw little warmth on the small planet, and the two travelers were forced to wear environmental suits to protect themselves from the cold.

"I'm surprised a Centauri would waste his time on a planet of this climate," G'Kar said with a frown.

"The records said that the surface temperatures were dropping even when the Centauri colonized it, but the pace of the sun's deterioration has increased over the past few centuries," Stephen responded. "It is a lot colder now," he added as he bent down picking a mangled earring out of the dirt. He held it up, the iconic fan of the Centauri Republic etched into its discolored surface.

G'Kar led the expedition, making his way through the forest, and he peered up at the hardened, tall plants fluttering in the planet's stiff breeze. As they made their way toward the plateau, G'Kar made out the wreckage of several habitations, and he moved aside debris with his glove, finding little of interest to reward him for his effort. Eventually, the pair split up to explore the ruins.

For the next few hours, the pair sorted through the relics of the area as they communicated their finds over their headsets.

"What's this?" G'Kar heard Dr. Franklin gasp, and he swiftly followed Franklin's footsteps in the frozen tundra around the side of the plateau. Unlike the temperate side facing the sun, the far side received no sun at all, and a pocket in the terrain was entombed in ice. G'Kar found Dr. Franklin peering into the pocket, pointing at the exposed remnants of clothing peeking out of the ice.

"I think I've got something," Franklin said, excitement animating his voice.

"Looks like a grave site that got iced over," G'Kar said as he fingered the remnant of an embroidered Centauri material trapped in the ice. "Let's thaw it out," he said, heading for the flyer.

* * *

A few hours later, G'Kar had used the flyer's thrusters to carefully melt a small portion of the iced gravesite, revealing a tangle of Centauri bodies. The bodies had severe wounds, indicating traumatic deaths. As they continued to heat the ice, Dr. Franklin inspected each victim. He came across one with gruesome cuts across its neck and shoulders.

Stephen leaned down, pulling a drill wet piece of organic matter from beside the body, and he observed hatchet slices along the body.

"I've seen my share of those marks. They belong to an unskilled coutari wielder," G'Kar said grimly as he joined Dr. Franklin.

"Maybe in the chaos the Centauri fell to killing their own," Franklin mused.

Crouching down next to Dr. Franklin, G'Kar scratched at the ice undernearth the body and he pulled out another discolored piece of organic matter. As he looked at it, he suddenly dropped it, a snarl curling his lip.

"What wrong?" Stephen asked him.

"It's probably one of the Centauri's . . . ." He gestured at his sides before wiping his gloves on his environmental suit.

"Sexual organs?" Dr. Franklin asked, laughing. "No, they don't look quite like that," he picked up the piece and examined it closer. "No, this is a different appendage altogether." After staring at it some time, he gestured to G'Kar. "Help me bring the body inside, I'd like to do a more thorough autopsy on it."

G'Kar picked up the remnants of the Centauri body, moving it back to the flyer where Dr. Franklin set up a temporary, ventilated area where he could study the body.

G'Kar waited outside, enjoying the vistas as Franklin worked on the autopsy, but before long, G'Kar returned to the graveyard, wondering if one day someone would find similar remnants of a mass grave on Narn entombed during the Narn-Centauri conflict. The Centauri had elaborate death rituals, but at times, they had abandoned many of their dead, leaving their bodies to the gods when forced to retreat in a hurry. The number of Narn slaughtered during the Centauri occupation had forced the Narn to do much the same when the health hazards were too great to allow proper death rites.

G'Kar remembered the horror stories of the Centauri occupation, and the bruises it left in his people's consciousness still burned. Privately, he had hoped that Londo's ascension to Emperor would mark a difference in the relations between their people, but in truth, after the insidious Centauri raids, the relations had crumbled. With the Alliance authorizing severe embargos against the Centauri and throwing out Centauri representatives from Alliance space and neutral space held by the Alliance after the Babylon 5 bombing, the Centauri had been strictly isolated by the Alliance.

Before they had found a friendship of sorts, G'Kar and Londo had been at each other's throats - but at least they had been able to talk to each other in person on the Council. Now, a Centauri ambassador and a Narn ambassador could not even disembark on the same station.

G'Kar's thoughts were interrupted when his eyes fell upon another severely decayed body in the melting ice, clothed in oddly rags that would never adorn the poorest Centauri. Carefully, he scooped up the decayed mass, and thanking G'Quan that he could not smell the stench on account of his environmental suit, he returned to the flyer, handing it to Dr. Franklin.

Speechless, Dr. Franklin carefully took the mass, laying it on a nearby bed.

G'Kar's eyes narrowed, and he hissed, "That's __my__ bed."

"All right, all right," Stephen said, shooing him away. "I'll sanitize it when I'm done - but I can't believe you found a Drakh! Even if he is in an advanced stage of decay. Maybe I can still salvage some information from the body."

"Information the Alliance can use, I hope," G'Kar said stiffly.

"I'm not going to provide anyone with data concerning Drakh biological weaknesses." Stephen raised a medical instrument pointedly, "I've already seen how Earthdome co-opts that kind of scientific information and misuses it. I'm a doctor, after all."

G'Kar shook his head, "Then I leave you to your scientific explorations while I do some exploration of my own."

Strolling outside, G'Kar avoided the graveyard and circled the plateau, his boots crunching on the frozen ground. He thought of the Centauri and the Drakh fighting over wretched, frozen tundra, and he shook his head with disgust.

"G'Kar" came Dr. Franklin's excited voice over the headset, "I think I've found something."

But G'Kar barely heard his words because he was staring at the plateau. He, too, had discovered something, and it took his breath away.


	19. Prophecy

G'Kar stared at an entrance in the rock hidden by its jagged features. It was so carefully crafted that if he had looked at it from a slightly different angle, he would never have perceived its existence.

G'Kar ran a glove over unnatural etchings marring the surface of the rock, marking a manmade opening. Turning the light attached to his environmental suit into the tunnel, G'Kar cautiously followed the cavern as it reached deeper and deeper underground.

Near the entrance, bodies had turned to dust, only tatters of cloth remaining, and after he moved disintegrated pieces of mangled metal and synthetic materials aside with the toe of his boot, he carefully stepped around the remnants.

The crunch of his boots echoed through the long chasm as G'Kar explored further, stopping only when the tunnels intersected with natural caves. Peering into the interlocking maze extending before him, G'Kar turned his flashlight into the myriad of caves radiating from his position. His flashlight hit upon a glint of metal, and he wisely marked his way out before venturing forward. As he moved toward the metal, he made out meticulously crafted underground chambers fashioned row upon row into the rock, each perfectly matching the last. Turning his flashlight onto the ceiling, he made out odd markings etched into placards inset into the stone.

As he moved deeper into the underground complex, G'Kar perceived smaller living chambers radiating from a central point deeper in the comple, and as his flashlight illuminated the central chamber, it dwarfed all the smaller living areas. The round, grand central chamber was enormous, and it stretched so far into the darkness that his flashlight could not find the far walls. The chamber was left incomplete, but G'Kar could feel the trampled dreams of a civilization trapped in the grandiose room. Flanking the rounded walls were austere rows of seats radiating outward and upward as far as his flashlight would let him see, an underground amphitheater.

Walking forward, G'Kar's environmental suit beeped, and he glanced at its display with a hiss, noting his oxygen was beginning to run low. Taking one last look around, he traced his way back to the entrance and slipped back outside, making his way to the flyer.

"There you are," raw relief was clear on Dr. Franklin's face when G'Kar arrived back at the ship. "I thought you might be out exploring, but then you didn't come back, and you didn't answer . . . ."

G'Kar took off his environmental suit helmet, "You were otherwise detained, Doctor. I knew you want some time alone with your bodies and knives." He wrinkled his nose in disgust, "But I see I did not give you long enough to find an air freshener or to sanitize my bunk."

Franklin shrugged, "I did find something interesting." He pointed at the strange appendage G'Kar had found. "The DNA from the severed organic matter - the appendage you found - matches the Drakh DNA. But it is a self-contained entity. I've never seen anything like it. I did some tests on the Drakh body, and they were inconclusive because of the state of decomposition, but it appears there are places on the Drakh chest cavity that suggest these are viable biological entities that the Drakh can grow as sucklings and detach."

"An unfortunately solitary method of reproduction," G'Kar smirked.

"No," Franklin interjected. "The smaller organism doesn't have the same structure as a regular Drakh. It cannot grow into a fully functioning Drakh, although it appears to be equipped with rudimentary biological functions and even a primitive brain." Stephen's face flushed with excitement. "It is the first example I have ever seen of two separate organisms originating from the same biological entity."

"So the Drakh grow an extra appendage and discard it at will. What possible purpose would that serve?" G'Kar asked.

Franklin threw up his hands, "There has to be a symbiotic relationship of some sort, but it could take years of research to understand. Since we already know that the Drakh are a telepathic communal, we can surmise that there is some sort of telepathic link between the entities. But what is more intriguing is that the organism has basic biological functions, but it appears to lack elements of a nervous system which would be critical to its survival, so it may need to feed off of the nervous system of a host. How any of that would benefit the Drakh is impossible to say."

"An odd evolutionary outlier," G'Kar mused.

"There's more," Stephen said excitedly. "I saved the most interesting finding for last."

G'Kar peered at the body, "What other secrets can this body reveal?"

Dr. Franklin took out a scalpel and pointed at the appendage's mass. "Watch this," he said as he took G'Kar's flashlight from him and turned it on the mass. As he changed the angle of the light, portions of the small body dissolved from sight.

"By G'Quan," G'Kar gasped.

Franklin nodded excitedly, "The cellular structure of this mass can manipulate light - it _could_ allow the entity to appear invisible by bending light around the mass."

G'Kar's eyes lit up. "The military applications for such biological technology would be boundless."

Dr. Franklin's face turned serious. "That they can potentially manipulate their appearance is incredible. I could spend years studying this one aspect of their biology alone. And it should be studied - before any military applications are developed. Besides, you agreed that this trip would be for exploration and science - not military intelligence."

G'Kar shrugged, "One little exception . . . ."

"Tell me what you found," Franklin said, trying to change the subject.

G'Kar's eyes twinkled. "I found out where they live."

After G'Kar explained his discovery, Stephen seemed unsure. "The caves could have been built by the Centauri . . . ."

"No," G'Kar said firmly, "these caves are austere. The are the antithesis of Centauri design. They are of Drakh design - I am quite certain."

Franklin's face fell. "They could be anywhere."

"Yes," G'Kar agreed grimly. "Finding them just became quite a bit harder than we thought. And now," he said thoughtfully, "it is time to go home."

* * *

Before Timov disembarked at Porto, she called for Senna to join her. When Senna appeared, Timov instructed Phylakios to provide the Princess with a security contingent and to escort her away from downtown Porto for the day.

"But you are meeting with the leaders of the riots," Senna protested.

"Exactly," Timov said firmly. "It isn't safe. If I needed any more proof that Londo was losing his mind, sending his family and aides into a volatile riot zone is it." Timov smiled, "Wives, perhaps. But never a daughter."

"Where will I go?" Senna asked.

Timov waved to the outskirts of Porto. "The officials will escort you on a tour of the far side of town, away from the area of the protests." Taking Senna's arm, Timov whispered to her. "And remember our code word. If anyone from our group refers to the _baguan_ bird, it means the situation isn't safe."

Senna nodded, remembering the group's discussion that a code word to indicate danger was essential.

Before she could protest further, Senna found herself leaving the outskirts of Porto in the middle of a bustling security contingent.

* * *

After Senna had departed, Phylakios consulted with the local defense forces, and under his command, they secured an impressive government administrative building in the heart of Porto. After the security arrangements were completed to Phylakios's satisfaction, the local officials officially received the Empress and finalized the preparations for her meeting with the protestors.

Shortly after that, the chosen representative of the protesters was escorted into the main courtyard, approaching the Empress with his head bowed, his hands open and outstretched in front of him.

"Your Majesty," he said deferentially. "The royal houses of Trembelle and Castello welcome Your Majesty to the 12th parallel of the royal city of Porto, founded in . . . ."

"Enough with the formalities," Timov cut him off, "or we will be here all day. And most of tomorrow I suspect."

The representative bowed his head, his crest dipping as he bowed. But when he stared awkwardly at the Empress's dainty feet, no further words emanated from him.

"Do you wish to discuss the cause of the protests?" Timov asked.

The man's crest dipped again.

Timov waited, but as the minutes ticked by without a response, she finally spoke again, annoyance sharpening her tone. "Would you care to speak about it before history records this eon as having come to a close?"

The man's crest wobbled with nervousness. "It would not be appropriate for me to address Your Majesty in such a manner," he said weakly.

"Oh for heaven's sakes." Timov said sharply. "Vir!" she commanded, calling him to her side. "This gentleman would like to discuss the reasons for the protests against the government's actions in Porto, but he does not wish to soil a woman's delicate ears with the reasons for their dissatisfaction, so you will discuss with him on my behalf and report back to me _since I am His Majesty's envoy in the matter_." Her last words were piqued with irritation as she waved Vir off with the representative.

Vir bowed and led the man to a nearby room. There, Vir listened intently while the man explained the deep dissatisfaction that had been simmering since Porto had been one of the cities targeted by bombs of members of the Interstellar Alliance. Its citizens, the man relayed, had willingly filled the military's ranks, but they were bearing the brunt of the famine as drought had hit the Southern provinces the hardest, and the deeply religious culture of Porto felt that the recent order on telepaths would affect the country's treasured seers. "I know His Majesty will take my head for such talk," the man said, close to tears, "but what sort of people would the Centauri be without our seers to guide us?"

"There is light," Vir said out of the earshot of the guards, "between His Majesty and Her Majesty on this matter." Quietly, Vir expressed his sympathy for the man's cause, spending over an hour listening to the man's concerns before deftly negotiating an understanding with the protestors. In exchange for the Empress's clandestine assistance, the protestors would cease their outward protests against the Crown's actions and provide covert support to her efforts. They would use the dilapidated palace outside Porto as a base of operations and a cover for the underground resistance movement, and it would be shielded from scrutiny as the Empress's personal residence.

The man agreed, although he kept touching his neck nervously, as if he was afraid he might not be attached for long. Together, he returned with Vir to the Empress's side.

"In light of Your Majesty's request and their respect for the Crown," Vir reported, "the protestors have agreed to immediately cease their protests."

"Well," Timov clasped her hands with satisfaction, "I hope the other troubled regions will follow the example set by Porto."

* * *

Dunsenny saw the call waiting from Palco, and he stared at the blinking screen for a moment before answering. "Nephew," he smiled at the image. "How is everything at the palace?"

Palco frowned and stared at the plush carpet between his boots.

Dunsenny blinked. "I see." Narrowing his eyes, Dunsenny asked quietly, "How is His Majesty?"

"I think he is quite lonely since everyone left, Uncle," Palco replied. "His temper is short, and he is by turns angry and then quiet. He has asked after Her Majesty, but he did not wish to speak to her directly. He indicated that I should enquire after her discreetly. And . . . he is drinking more but enjoying it less. He, eh . . . ." Palco struggled for words, "indicated to Emanio that the Royal family would not be returning to the palace."

Dunsenny's tapped an troubled finger on the table. "Perhaps it is for the best - she is considering reopening several palaces for her personal use. He will undoubtedly be upset when he learns of her plans. You may wish to secure the antique crystal before he learns of it."

"But," Palco protested, "he authorized _one_ palace to be re-opened."

"As I said," Dunsenny reiterated, "It would be best if you secure the antique crystal."

* * *

Senna dutifully toured the scenic charms of Porto, but when the officials mentioned the famed Altar of the Sea, Senna's eyes brightened with delight. "Is it allowed?" she asked with excitement. "To see the Altar of the Sea? I thought it was forbidden."

"No," said one of the officials accompanying her. "Not for a member of the royal family, Your Highness."

The motorcade carrying the Princess turned toward the coastline, and Senna watched the approaching pearl-colored beach grow larger in the window of her carriage with anticipation.

Finally, the entourage disembarked at the top of two towering cliffs, joined together by a suspended staircase that wound down from the cliff directly into the water below. A bevy of monks greeted the motorcade, and one with a shorn crest greeted her. He took her hand awkwardly, and only as he moved away from her did she realize the monk was blind. Nevertheless, he knew his way to the Altar of the Sea by heart, and he guided her down the cliffs using the aged staircase as it swayed in the ocean's breeze. As they reached the bottom of the staircase, the salt water sprayed her legs, and Senna looked expectantly to the monk.

"This is as close as one who does not seek the words of our oracle should go," he told her. "The oracle lives under the sea, so those who wish to visit her must be ready to sacrifice their lives to the ocean in pursuit of the future."

Senna stared at the waves beneath her feet. "If it is allowed, I wish to consult with your oracle," she responded.

The monk contemplated her request for a moment and at last inclined his head. "Can you swim?" he asked.

"Yes," Senna laughed, "or I should be more afraid of consulting your oracle."

"Then," the monk began to remove his shoes. "Follow me." He stepped into the water, seeming to descend into it as if the stairs continued under the sea until, at last, he took a deep breath and disappeared beneath the waters.

Senna watched him disappear, and she followed him, careful to keep one hand on the stair's rail as she descended. She reconsidered for a moment before taking the final plunge, but with resolve, she held her breath and followed him into the water.

To her surprise, the swim beneath the surface was a short and simple one, and the waves were shallow and easy to maneuver. An artificial room trapping an large air bubble was located underneath her, and the stair rail guided her to it. As soon as she swam into the trapped bubble of air, door closed, water drained, and interlocking doors opened, revealing a glass hallway surrounded by the sea on all sides.

Senna followed the monk as he led her through the long hall, her wet footsteps trailing behind her. The hallway opened into a large chapel, and there, a woman no older than her sat upon a throne of glass, surrounded by several rows of monks, each with his head bowed.

The young oracle did not move or speak until Senna was arranged in front of her, and Senna waited in silence, taking in the splendid colors of the sea refracting off the glass.

The oracle opened her eyes, although she remained quiet for several more minutes, and her face clouded with darkness. At last, she said, "Know that the future is coming for you. Spend what will be taken wisely."

"But _what_ is my future?" Senna asked.

"Your mother is the second, and yet, she is not the second, but you are the third and yet the first," the oracle replied.

Senna waited, yet the oracle offered nothing further. But Senna was convinced that this might be an opportunity for the gods to guide her decisions with respect to Londo, so she asked, "Please tell me - what troubles the Emperor?"

The oracle responded, "Your father is surrounded by darkness. It suffocates him."

Considering the oracle's words, she asked, "My natural father or my adoptive father?"

"Yes," the oracle replied before abruptly getting to her feet and retiring, leaving Senna to ponder the meaning of her words at the Altar of the Sea.


	20. Underground

Ja'Toq had always been a rare breed of Narn. He had shunned military life in order to become a free trader outside the Narn Regime's borders. Although his face was known in most of the quadrants of the galaxy, he was known for his quiet shrewdness. His upbringing as a pouchling born to nomadic parents far from the Narn homeworld had given rise to his fiercely independent streak, and he disregarded politics in exchange for enhancing his bank account. Naturally, with enough time, he ventured into illicit trading alliances in markets other Narns would not frequent. This had led him to be at odds with the Narn Regime more than once, and he was considered, in some circles, to be a traitor to the Regime, although no official charges had ever been brought against him.

Ja'Toq was one of the few Narn that traded freely with the Centauri in the years after the occupation, and even the Emperor's order restricting aliens had not stopped the blockade runs to Centauri Prime that had turned him a handsome profit. But on his last run, word had gotten out to the local Centauri Defense Forces of the Narn blockade runner, and they arrested him and his ragged crew of mercenaries. Although they were sentenced to death for defying the strict ban, Ja'Toq escaped his crew's deadly fate when he broke out of holding and disappeared into the Northern forests.

By chance, Ja'Toq was found by an elderly Centauri who had kept him fed and clothed away from the clutches of the Defense Forces, but the situation had become unsustainable, and the elderly Centauri had probed his contacts for help, revealing his charge's existence only to trusted friends. Eventually, news of the renegade Narn had made its way to Vir's informal underground railroad network, and arrangements had been made to transport Ja'Toq to Vir's estate.

On the estate, Ja'Toq was impressed by the multicultural community shielded from atmospheric satellites by the natural forests surrounding it, but he was tired of his forced imprisonment, and rumors that the estate's patron had been trying to make arrangements for a ship to run the blockades and break the aliens out of the peril they lived in on Centauri Prime had perked his interest. As a skilled pilot yearning for his freedom, he had immediately applied to the Governor of the "colony" for the opportunity to pilot the next ship to escape the blockade. There was no doubt such an attempt would be dangerous, and the first group was more likely to be incinerated by Centauri gunships than to achieve their freedom. In light of this, _it wasn't If it was when_ , the elected Governor had told him, _that the Royal Adjutant can secure a ship, and when that days comes, we will use your skills._

The news had given Ja'Toq hope, but it had been more than a year since the Governor had promised him a spot on the ship, and nothing more had been heard on its possibility. In the meantime, the Emperor had ordered the detainment of telepaths, and apparently the estate's patron had made some arrangements to assist the newly targeted telepaths because all of a sudden, Centauri telepaths began arriving at the estate.

There was some friction, at first, between the existing alien populations and the new Centauri telepaths, many of whom felt conflicted over the existence of the colony of aliens in contravention of the Emperor's orders. However, when faced with their own new situation, branded as enemies of the state, the telepaths seemed to accept a peaceful co-existence, even if some of them preferred to live on the outskirts of the colony.

Unfortunately for Ja'Toq, although the telepaths reluctantly accepted the other aliens, he was uniquely singled out for their scorn. Like other Centauri, most of the telepaths had grown up embedded in anti-Narn propoganda, and he could feel the distrust emanating from them from the moment they arrived.

The small alien colony rotated its communal work demands, and in the late fall, it was Ja'Toq's turn to watch the colony children. As usual, he took them to the caverns accessible on one side of the estate, the gaping rooms giving cover to their vast play space. To his chagrin, several of the telepath parents refused to let their children accompany him, and he shrugged, knowing anti-Narn sentiment was once again rearing its ugly head.

"It's not you," one of the few telepaths who would exchange words with Ja'Toq murmured as Ja'Toq passed by.

"What do you mean?" Ja'Toq turned his ruby eyes on the figure of a Centauri with a drooping crest.

"It's not you," the telepath repeated. "They do not want their children playing in the caverns – no one can quite put their finger on it – but they emit a . . . sense of foreboding . . . of danger."

Ja'Toq turned to the telepath, "Along with the forest, they are our best cover from the government's satellite imagery. But if you do not wish your children to play, it is your own business."

When Ja'Toq reached the caverns that day, he thought on the telepath's words. Although his people's telepaths had died out centuries before, telepathic abilities were respected and, especially in his business, sought after. Ja'Toq wasn't sure if it was the Centauri's words that had implanted a seed in his mind or if he could really feel something, but from that day on, he felt ill-at-ease in the caverns, and whenever it was his turn to accompany the children, he traded the rather easy task of babysitter for heavy labor, hoping to avoid the cold chill in his chest whenever he approached the caverns.

* * *

In the weeks following her arrival in Porto, Timov found herself at the center of a bustling construction project to revitalize the Sea Palace, as Porto's palace was affectionately known to the local population. Although renovations would take many more months, the Empress had decided to convert the throne room of the Sea Palace into a receiving room. Even though the rest of the palace was barely safe to enter, local labor had quickly converted the crumbling room into a semi-habitable space. Stone-by-stone, Porto's prized palace was being restored under the Empress's eagle eye.

Early one morning shortly after their arrival to the seaside town, Phylakios briskly presented himself in her new office, waiting quietly near the door until his presence caught her eye.

Vir Cotto was in front of him hunched over her desk, consulting with her over negotiations he was conducting on her behalf. The royal adjutant's ambassadorial experience had proven indispensable as he gained the trust of the protesters. He was instrumental in helping form a network of people that would assist the Empress's efforts. Vir had naturally thrived in such a role, refusing credit for his efforts, but working tirelessly toward the Empress's goals.

As Timov trusted Vir more and more, Phylakios noted that Vir was often at her elbow. Under normal circumstances, other Centauri might have resented Vir's position as the right hand of the Crown, but because Vir requested no recognition and worked diligently, he escaped his countrymen's jealousy and avoided being targeted by social climbers. Phylakios saw that the Royal Adjutant held positions of respect, but he never demanded it, and in doing so, earned a more enduring appreciation by the Empress and others.

To the Empress's other side was the striking figure of Princess Senna, who had pledged her service in the Empress's aid. Phylakios had been present when Senna had made a strong case for her involvement, arguing that her recent ascension to Princess had secured the people's goodwill, and she was in a unique position to request charitable donations from the upper class in aid of their cause. Reluctantly, and with the firm understanding that the donations were to made in aid of the "needy", not in any connection to their underground railroad, Timov had agreed. Phylakios had personally overseen the security arrangements for several outings on behalf of the Princess to noble families in the Porto region, all of which had pledged her their immediate support.

At last, Vir noticed Phylakios and straightened, "Oh, I – I didn't realize you had an appointment, I'm sorry that—"

"—Take these, Vir," Timov returned some papers to him. "Our travel schedule puts us in Tibalia next, and they have faced many of the same challenges faced by Porto. If we can leverage some of our contacts in Porto to help expand our network in Tibalia, we will begin to see more progress across the South. We shall send Senna to speak with the ones which might offer financial support – and Vir, you will meet with the others who can provide more . . . practical support. Senna . . ." she kissed the young woman affectionately on both cheeks, "take care today, as always. Your safety is utmost on my mind."

Senna smiled, dipping her head at the Empress's commands, and Vir nodded his acquiescence before bowing and departing a step behind the Princess.

As Senna and Vir's footsteps faded, Phylakios watched the Empress approach him. Deftly stepping over the masonry strewn around the room, she hardly seemed to notice the crumbling mosaics underneath her heels. "Phylakios," she gestured to him, "you wished to discuss something?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," he snapped his heels, saluting before he approached. "The locals have provided more bodies than I can train, but I have begun their instruction under cover of night. I have enlisted the most promising young men under me in the Royal Guard, but it would be best to ensure there are smaller militia cells that you can activate when their assistance is required."

"They cannot be centralized," Timov said. "If we are found out . . . ."

"Of course," Phylakios nodded. "The cells will be decentralized. The leaders of each cell will be known but to a handful of people. However, there is a risk if something happens to the leadership. It would leave them scattered and disorganized."

"It is a risk we will have to take – I would prefer to risk as few lives as possible."

"Very good, Majesty," Phylakios bowed. But rather than departing, he lingered before withdrawing the Emperor's bloodstained note from his waistcoat pocket. "I have been studying His Majesty's note," Phylakios said quietly.

Timov stared at the note, her face paling.

"I believe I have deciphered part of its meaning." Phylakios pointed to it with his crisply-pressed gloves. "His Majesty failed to draw any outlines of the Great Plain of Centauri Prime, but if you overlay his marks onto a map of the Great Plain, they almost all coincide with large population centers."

Timov's eyes darted from Phylakios to the note and back again. "It is a map then?"

"Of sorts," Phylakios replied, tapping his finger on it. "His Majesty has made a number of marks here . . . here . . . and here, for example."

"They look like bursts," Timov peered at them.

"Yes," Phylakios agreed. "That's not all – the cities on your official travel schedule provided by the palace – they all coincide with the same . . . 'bursts' as you call them."

Timov picked up the paper, studying it carefully. "What do you think it means?" she asked.

Phylakios straightened, "Each of the places marked by a 'burst' has one thing in common - they are all places that never fully recovered from the bombings at the end of the Shadow War. But there is more." Phylakios fell silent for a moment before glancing back at the Empress. "The key," Phylakios grimaced, "is in the other symbols. I did not wish to bring this to Your Majesty's attention until I was positive, but having studied it at length now, I am sure that the Emperor's other symbols coincide with a mark we use on military maps." Tapping the other marks, Phylakios said, "These are symbols for caches of hidden explosives."

Timov glanced at the slew of other marks with a new wariness. "So you are saying that these are cities where he has indicated unexploded bombs."

"Yes," Phylakios replied grimly.

" _Great Maker_ ," Timov took a step back. After a thoughtful moment, she turned to Phylakios. "We do not know if he thinks there are unexploded ordinances there or, the gods forbid, he intends to target his own people with bombs. What do you suggest?"

Phylakios lowered his voice, "I would like to send some men in to these places to establish if bombs are in place or if they are fruits of His Majesty's imagination."

"How can you search whole cities? It is a fool's errand."

Phylakios agreed. "It will not be an easy or a quick search. It may reveal nothing at all. But we have limited options."

Timov studied the map tensely. "We must try to establish what Londo's scribblings in blood could mean, but you shall wait for authorization before undertaking any clandestine missions to these cities." She paused, "If we were to find any evidence . . . any evidence at all that he . . ." she paused, emotion overcoming her.

The sound of footsteps interrupted their discussion, and Phylakios looked up to see Dunsenny with an uneven pallor.

"Your Majesty," he breathed hard, "there are . . . two guests here to see you." His face was particularly strained.

Timov glanced back to Phylakios, dismissing him with a nod, before her attention settled on Dunsenny. "Send them in."

As he gathered up the map, Phylakios watched the Empress's eyes register annoyance, and he turned to see two new figures at the door. As he passed them by, he heard only the disapproval in Timov's voice.

"Mariel. Daggair. What are _you_ doing here?" was the last thing he heard as he disappeared from the room.

* * *

Emanio found the Emperor gazing out the window. He noticed that the Emperor had been spending more and more time in the throne room, passing his time by watching the its security monitors, observing the deliberations of the ministers and the activity of the palace. "Majesty," Emanio approached the figure in white, "the Empress is waiting to speak with you."

"For the hundredth time, no," Londo said firmly, turning to his aide. "I do not with to speak with her."

Emanio rubbed his thumbs together with nervousness, "I informed her, but Her Majesty insists . . . ."

"Oh?" Londo's brows shot up, "She does, eh? She will be very angry when she realizes that it is _I_ who am Emperor."

"Yes, sire," sweat formed on Emanio's lip. "But this time she stated she will wait on your private communication channel until you are free. She has already been waiting three hours, and she appears to have amassed supplies for an indefinite amount of time."

Londo stared at Emanio with incredulity. " _That woman_ ," he shook his head as he flipped the communication panel on his throne, "is the most obstinate person I have ever met."

"Other than yourself?" came Timov's tart reply.

"Of course not, my rose petal," Londo glanced at the screen. "As I have always said, ladies first, so I will allow you that honor." He leaned back in his chair, "I suppose you are calling to gloat about your recent foray into diplomacy."

"There's nothing to gloat about," she replied as she waved a few papers in her hand, "if these new royal decrees are any indication of the continued direction of your government. You send me into a riot zone, and I am able to quell the population, and then you announce the unilateral dismantlement of independent media, leaving only the state-run media outlets? Perhaps you didn't want the rest of the nation to see the protest? Or, perhaps you wanted them all to object?"

Londo ignored her question. "I was surprised the protestors caved to you so quickly."

"They are not as stubborn as you are," Timov retorted swiftly. "And I see you have been getting your news through other sources. Perhaps he - or she - informed you that I have agreed to speak with you about the drought conditions and famine on their behalf. Perhaps that is why it has been so hard to get ahold of you?"

"I am the Emperor of billions, my delicate flower, which keeps me quite busy. As for the assistance, I will see what I can squeeze from the Treasury."

"I have reopened the Porto palace to help facilitate whatever additional supplies you authorize to help the local populations that are suffering here. I suspected you would not object, since you already authorized it."

"Porto, it is an interesting choice," he chuckled, "a hotbed, as some like to call it. It suits you well."

Ignoring his quip, she said, "I've enlisted community labor to revitalize the grounds, and the project is going well. The palace is small but there is a sense of love and care in its architecture. The restorers have the same sense of pride. There is something special about the place, Londo, and I think they are waiting for the first visit by a Centauri Emperor in three decades."

Londo grunted, "Do you know, ISN once interviewed me and asked me why I took so much pride in Centauri Prime – before I was Emperor – and I told them that I had been to other planets, and the Centauri light spectrum has a greater variety of wavelengths than other places, so other places seem drab and dull by comparison. I told that that _that_ is why our people require more intricate designs in their clothing and their houses. We are used to such things - to such visual delight - and without them, the world seems dull by comparison. In truth, it was Porto I was thinking of - its beautiful colors. There is nothing I would like more than to spend an evening on Porto's beaches, the most beautiful beaches in the universe. But, sadly, I do not think I am destined to see Porto's beaches anytime soon."

Timov stayed silent for a moment before she responded. "In your place, Senna has already been to see a number of the local noble families, and she has secured commitments for local donations to assist the poorer populations. I think it is a model we might replicate throughout the South. I would like to reopen a number of palaces for these purposes."

"A number?" Londo leaned forward, his jaw tightening. "Timov, you are not one for collecting things, let alone palaces, and I would remind you of the state of our Treasury."

Timov pursed her lips, "They will be put to good use," she said, her tone clipped as she anticipated his anger.

Londo stared at her in silence, his gaze scrutinizing her at length before nodding, "All right."

"All right?" Timov said, disbelief evident in her voice. "You approve then?"

Londo lifted a few fingers in silent acquiescence.

Timov had readied herself for a fight, and its absence unsteadied her so much that she brought up a topic she had intended on surreptitiously concealing. "There is one thing," she added.

"Yes?" Londo waited with uncharacteristic patience.

Timov hesitated before mentioning Londo's ex-wives. "I have seen Mariel and Daggair."

Londo's eyes hardened at the names. "Did you?" he asked briskly.

"They have fallen on hard times," Timov said softly.

"Have they really?" Londo replied sarcastically. "I suppose the generous sums of my money have run out?"

Timov sighed, "I have heard you yell about them more than enough times to know how you feel, but consider that your position has ruined their prospects -."

"- They should have thought about that before . . . ."

"-Londo!" Timov stopped him. "Do you really want everyone talking about how you have failed to provide for your ex-wives?"

Londo abruptly stopped, stewing on her words before responding. "Surely it isn't _that_ bad," he said at last.

"Consider," Timov returned to her point, "that you cast them aside on Babylon 5. You are more than happy to discuss their flaws, and no one on Centauri Prime would dare take them in or aide them for fear of your wrath. It has destroyed Daggair's hopes for advancement in society, and Mariel can't even find a freighter captain willing to take her off Centauri Prime so that she can seek out foreign officials to charm." Timov felt her annoyance growing. She hardly wanted to defend Daggair or even Mariel after enduring them as co-wives for so many years, but here she was, put in the very position she despised. "I am not defending them, Londo, but I thought you would wish to know they are homeless, penniless, reduced to begging for scraps from peasants. In light of their situation, I . . . was going to offer them a residence at the palace in Porto. At least then, it might signal to Centauri society that they should not be shunned for the rest of their lives."

Londo drew back, his brow furrowing with annoyance, " _Not in the palace_ ," he instructed her firmly. "I will not entertain those miscreants in my official residences." He glared at the screen.

Timov waited, knowing his anger would sort itself out with time, and after a few moments, she notice that he finally softened. "Is it really that bad?" he asked at last.

"It is," she stated, "or I would not have brought it to your attention." She let her words sink in before she offered, "There is a cottage, a small cottage, on the Sea Palace's grounds . . . ."

"Fine," Londo agreed. "As you point out, although we are divorced, their circumstances reflect on me." He studied his boots, "I did care for them, you know," he said quietly before looking up. "Even if it was not returned."

Timov could see his melancholy returning, "The whole nation will applaud your generosity toward them."

"And you?" he asked quietly.

"I know how you feel," she replied gently before returning to her other thoughts. "We can speak of it at the Great House," Timov clasped her hands.

Confusion crossed Londo's face, "What do you mean?"

"For Founder's Day," Timov reminded him. "We spoke about it before I left."

Londo shook his head, bewildered. "I don't . . . eh . . . remember . . . . But I cannot get away."

A flash of annoyance crossed Timov's face. "It would be appreciated, in future, if you merely tell me you do not want to go, Londo, rather than playing these games. It is rather a waste of my time and yours."

"I do . . . do not remember," Londo stammered.

Rolling her eyes, Timov shook her head. "Fine. Your schedule is so busy that you cannot make it."

"My schedule _is_ busy," Londo protested.

"You send me away and avoid my communiques even though you agreed to coordinate these trips personally? You are so busy that you spend your time spying on the palace, disappearing from view, and staring out the window?"

Londo glowered, "I see _you_ have _also_ been receiving your news through other channels."

Ignoring his comment, Timov continued, "Perhaps it is your conscience that weighs on your mind."

"Timov . . . " Londo growled.

"The barbarian military orders," her voice grew stronger with her disapproval, "that you have approved, your refusal to make any concessions to the Alliance, the disintegration of our cultural fabric, the xenophobic ministers you have allowed to take over the government."

Londo stared hard at the monitor. "I am aware of your position." The hardness in his eyes faded, replaced with melancholy. "If you wish a divorce, Timov," he said softly, "I will grant it to you."

Timov sensed a shift in his mood, a desperation she had never seen in him, as if he were begging her to leave him, and she considered his offer for a fleeting moment. "I know what I think of the things you are doing. What I would like to know is what possible reasons _you_ have?"

"I do what must be done, for the good of the people." Catching her disapproving gaze, he added, "Some evils," he said quietly, "are worse than others."

Solemnly, Timov glanced back at her husband, "I have no desire to humiliate you with the embarrassment of asking you for a divorce." She glanced away from the screen, "Short of that, we must still fight the evils we can see with all that we have."

To her surprise, she read a note of satisfaction on her husband's face, "and that which we cannot." His brow furrowed before he added, "Take care of the people in Porto, Timov. I need them all."

Their communication ended, Timov called back Phylakios, "I authorize the missions we discussed," she instructed, "as soon as possible."


	21. The Lure

Three years had passed since the Empress and the Princess made Porto their home. Though the Emperor rarely ventured out from behind the gates of his palace, he sent the Empress and the Princess as his personal representatives to countless functions and ceremonies. Weekly, the palace updated their schedules, bustling with royal engagements in Tibalia, Caraceno, Dursevela, and other cities of importance. Each of the cities was, as Phylakios had foretold, marked on the Emperor's map in blood, and each had suffered severe bombings at the end of the Shadow War. Curiously, the schedules of the Empress and the Princess never permitted them to travel to the other cities marked on the map, even when significant ceremonies occurred there.

Although the public knew the Emperor through his nationwide broadcasts, they had come to know the Empress and the Princess individually, as well. The pair of nobles had become the public face of the royalty, enjoying overwhelming public support as they presented royal honors, congratulated the recipients of awards sponsored by the Crown, hosted ribbon-cutting ceremonies as government projects were completed, visited the sick, and assisted the poor.

Empress Timov exhibited a practical dignity embraced by her country. Her no-nonsense demeanor was roundly applauded in most circles, and the country embraced its patroness's charitable activities. Her ambitious public schedule stood in stark contrast to the wives of other emperors, and she had unilaterally cut a new role for herself that had never before existed in the country.

The Empress's position allowed her the perfect cover to control everything that went on within the palaces she reopened and renovated, and she conveniently spaced the palaces along an escape route into the high mountains to Vir's estate, aiding political prisoners as they sought refuge.

Following in her adopted mother's footsteps, Senna filled her schedule with opportunities to interact with the public face-to-face. Unlike the Emperor's fleeting acquiescence for Centauri religious ceremonies or the Empress's ambivalent tolerance toward them, Senna had a warm relationship with the Centauri religious community, and she invoked a deeply personal and genuine spiritual rapport that reflected her own religious beliefs.

In public, Senna was still besieged by suitors, both young and old, but she always deftly steered conversations back toward her charitable work. She relied heavily on Vir's counsel, and their private relationship had blossomed behind closed doors.

Princess Senna was wildly popular among the Centauri, for she brought the freshness of youth to her duties, and she inspired the spirit of service among the younger Centauri as they witnessed the royalty's new, service-oriented approach to their positions.

The "Slave General," as Phylakios was affectionately known by his soldiers, meticulously built an organized, underground army from the ranks of the ranks of the Southern rebels. He deftly chose the most capable, careful recruits, and he sent them to every city, even ones that had not been marked on the Emperor's map, to search for any indication of bombs, but each time, they had come back empty handed - that was – until he sent an architect and his brother to the city of Sevelie.

* * *

Puck was sitting under a _trevsi_ tree, his legs crossed in front of him as he leaned against its spongey bark. The hill that he and his brother were occupying overlooked the town of Sevelie, a quint and picturesque town buried in the foothills of Centauri Prime's Great Plain. "It's just honestly the ugliest thing I've ever seen," Puck crunched into the hard _pomme de trevsi_ as a twisted expression crossed his face. He gestured to the egg that dominated the skyline below them. It had a web of interlocking honeycomb that created the egglike structure, wrapped in a metal cradle. "Just look at it, Turo! It has none of the beauty of Centauri architecture. It looks like a Narn squatted down and pissed it out his pouch. No – no, I take that back. Not even a _Narn_ would dare design something so devoid of aesthetically pleasing qualities."

Puck threw half the core of his _pomme de trevsi_ down the hill. "Are you even listening to me?" He turned to look for his brother and found him tracing figures with a stick in the dirt.

"It is just an emergency water purifying station," Turo threw back his unsettled crest of wavy brown hair that always seemed to droop into his eyes. "If you had designed it, you would call it 'visionary' and 'imaginative.' Since you did not design it, it is 'hideous' and 'repulsive.'"

Puck turned and threw the other half of the core at his brother's head, striking him on the temple.

" _Great Maker,_ " Turo rubbed his head, but his older brother stood up abruptly.

"What did you say?" Puck turned back to the structure. "What did you say it was?"

Still rubbing his head, Turo mumbled, "An emergency water purifying station. I've seen others like it here and there."

"No," Puck took a second glance, "I don't think so." His words came slowly as he considered the structure. "That honeycomb design is meant for one thing – to stabilize an energy matrix, not to hold water. A water purifier wouldn't need anything capable of holding that much power."

Both men took a few strides closer as they stared at the object in the distance. "Too bad it is within the government complex's security zone," Puck frowned. "If we could get close enough, we could read the power levels it is stabilizing."

"Not a problem," Turo threw back his shock of hair again, "let's go."

"TURO!" Puck called after his younger brother, but the man was already halfway down the hill. As Puck's eyes followed his impetuous brother, he saw Turo nonchalantly veer away from the government compound, and Puck quickened his stride to meet up with his brother.

"We are going to need a plan," Puck pulled his brother back by the shoulder. "You can't just wander into a Defense Force facility and expect them to give you a tour around the place."

"That's your department, brother," Turo shrugged.

Puck glanced at the facility, taking some minutes to think it over. "It is too dangerous – there's armed guards, a secure exterior and interior perimeter. We need to report back to the General – there's nothing we can do by ourselves."

"We're already here," Turo pleaded with his brother. "We can save so much time if we can just get a reading now. I mean – what if it is nothing, and we end up wasting months on it? Or what if it is something, and we waste time running through hoops? I think we should wait until the cover of darkness, and maybe we can get close enough outside the compound to get some readings. This could be the bombs we have been searching for."

"The readings won't be very accurate," Puck grumbled.

"It's better than nothing," Turo insisted.

The two commoners scrambled behind the closest building, stretching out in the cool shade of the building's shadow. There, in the dirt, they fell asleep until darkness fell, and after the twin moons rose, Turo felt his brother shaking him awake. "All right, let's go," Puck whispered to him. "We'll get as close on the exterior perimeter wall as we can."

The two brothers crept along the security ring in the dark, freezing when the night patrols ventured close by. As the brothers moved closer to the egg-shaped dome, Turo inched closer and closer to the security ring.

"That's close enough," Puck hissed cautiously, wondering how close they could get before the sirens sounded. But as he pulled his brother back, he stepped on a perimeter security device buried in the dirt, and a searing pain shot through his leg as he tumbled onto the ground.

" _Great Maker!_ " Turo cried softly, fear flashing in his eyes as he pulled his brother to his feet, the mission forgotten as he stared at the guards that were loitering too close for comfort. Turo pulled Puck backwards with his powerful arms until they reached the safety of the closest building, and Turo stared at the gaping wound in his brother's leg. He pulled off his waistcoat, and he used it to tie a tight tourniquet around Puck's artery.

"Go on, little brother," Puck replied, grinding his teeth together in pain. "I'll find a safe house here and get some treatment for my leg. You must return to Porto and let the General know what we have found."

"No," Turo shook his head vigorously, "I'm not leaving you here alone."

"This," Puck shook his hand toward the honeycombed egg, "is more important than both of our lives. You will go, _now._ "

After a moment's indecision and with guilt weighing his conscience down, Turo inclined his head. "Take care of yourself, brother," he patted Puck on the shoulder, "or I shall never forgive myself."

" _Go_ ," Puck said through clenched teeth before hauling himself to his feet and limping into the darkness toward Sevelie.

* * *

It took Turo less than a fortnight to reach the Sea Palace, and Phylakios listened to his story with interest, contemplating how his people might get closer to the structure. "You were foolish to try to enter the perimeter," he said matter-of-factly. "It is a class 3 facility, and you would have been detected by the guards had you not tripped the security device. It is a shoot-to-kill facility. You are lucky you made it out alive at all."

Turo stared at the ground silently.

"We will present your information to the Royal Adjutant," Phylakios informed him. "He is the only one who might be able to infiltrate the facility without raising any suspicion." He placed an understanding hand on Turo's shoulder. "I have called to our contacts in Sevelie, and your brother is with them. They could not save his leg, but you and your brother may have saved millions of lives. A leg for a few million lives – it is not a bad trade."

Turo exhaled at the news of his brother, his eyes misting as he put a hand to his chest. He nodded in agreement, "He will take my leg in exchange for his when he sees me, I think."

"A fair trade for a patriot," Phylakios shook him by the shoulders, grinning. "A fair trade, indeed."

* * *

Phylakios informed Vir Cotto of the discovery, pointing out that in his position of Royal Adjutant, he could easily use his security credentials to access Sevelie's secure facility without raising an undue amount of concern.

Vir's eyes grew wide as he read Turo's description of the premises and the security procedures. "For a water purifying system?" he looked up at last.

"It was built under the guise of being part of our emergency infrastructure," Phylakios noted. "So it merits being inside a secure facility, but it was Turo's brother, an architect, that pointed out the design of the structure is more attuned to a power net than a water reservoir. They can look similar, of course, but it is something we should investigate since a power net could be isolating fusion bomb components."

"Of – of course," Vir mumbled, "I'll do it." He stood up straighter. "I'll just . . . drop by for an unexpected visit."

"With apologies, Lord Cotto," Phylakios bowed his head, "but it would be preferable if you sent an announcement ahead of time. A routine inspection befitting your station should provide all the information we need."

"Oh," Vir nodded, "yes. Can you make the arrangements?"

"You may consider them made, Lord Cotto," Phylakios bowed again.

* * *

A few days later, Vir found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with the leaders of Sevelie. Due to his position, Phylakios always provided him with a royal guard of his own; although when he arrived at Sevelie, the local leaders immediately tripled his entourage.

Most of Vir's day in Sevelie was spent receiving local leaders who tried to bend his ear toward their personal causes. When they showered him with gifts on behalf of the region, he tried to humbly decline, but he was quickly overrun with the culinary delights and gifts of the people of Sevelie.

"If not for yourself," the leaders patted him heartily on the back, "then please, pass them along to the Emperor and his family."

Vir laughed nervously, seeing through their frail attempts to use him. "Do you mind if we tour the facilities?" he asked.

"Of course not," the Governor replied brightly, practically dragging Vir across the plaza toward the secure facilities. They swept through the security gates, and the guards snapped to attention, saluting as the Governor and the Royal Adjutant passed by.

As they passed through the heavy security gates, Vir endured the Governor's constant chatter about Sevelie's superior government facilities, and they strolled through the multi-layer security perimeter, each set of local guards saluting as they passed by.

The Governor led Vir to each and every building, giving a lengthy discussion about the city's difficulty in securing funding for each one, and Vir listened intently, patiently, his nerves churning in his stomach, but finally, the Governor paused under the looming shadow of the emergency water purification egg.

"This was built just after Emperor Mollari took the throne," the Governor said brightly. "It is a testament to His Majesty's care to provide for _all_ of his citizens."

"And uhm . . ." Vir smiled weakly, "how many gallons can it process per day?"

"I've been told," the Governor replied with enthusiasm, "more than 1,000,000 gallons _an hour_. Incredible, isn't it? Unfortunately, it burns more power than a _camutha_ ," he laughed. "So it isn't practical in anything but emergency situations."

"Oh?" Vir said, fumbling in his pocket for the power meter as he flipped it on with his thumb. "That's too bad."

"We are resigned to the regular water purification procedures," the Governor sighed. "But fortunately, we have this in times of emergencies."

The gauge concealed in Vir's pocket almost jumped out of his hand, and he tried to cover the shock on his face.

"Lord Cotto?" The Royal Governor stepped to his side. "Is everything all right?"

"Ohhhhh . . . yes," Vir nodded. "A beautiful city you have here, and the facility looks very . . . well kept. His Majesty would be pleased." As the Governor turned to look over his shoulder, Vir pulled the gauge from his pocket, glanced at it, and stuffed it in his waistcoat.

"Do you really think so?" the Governor asked. "We've been hoping that we could welcome His Majesty here sometime. Perhaps you would put in a good word for us?"

"Of course," Vir nodded. "I will send word to him once I've returned to Porto. I'm afraid I'm due back for meetings with Her Majesty this afternoon, so I must cut our tour short, although it has been infinitely informative."

"I cannot stand in the way of the Royal Adjutant when he is returning to his other duties," the Governor laughed. "It would be against the law, after all."

"Yes," Vir laughed nervously with him. Offering his thanks, Vir returned to his waiting carriage, and as he stepped into it, he wiped his forehead of the sweat that had accumulated. He turned the gauge on, returning to its last reading, and he stared at it all the way back to Porto.

* * *

The Empress closed her eyes in thought as she stood in the middle of the Sea Palace's receiving room. She had called a meeting of her advisors, and although at first glance, she looked calm, her hands were trembling uncharacteristically. She opened her eyes with resolve, "Some time ago," she said to the hushed room, "I made a promise that if we found evidence showing that Londo planned to harm the civilian population, I would have to reevaluate our tactics . . . . That time has come."

The Empress's hands steadied. "Our people detected a fusion cluster bomb disguised as an emergency water purification system under heavy guard at Sevelie. I asked Phylakios to survey as many other cities as possible in the last few days, and the same design has been detected in numerous cities throughout Centauri Prime. Many of them – but not all – were marked on Londo's map." The room was quiet.

"I have given Londo every benefit of the doubt," Timov added. "He is the Emperor, after all." She blinked away her feelings, "But it is also true that Londo is the third in a line of rulers who has exhibited a deeply disturbing trend, and there is a great deal of evidence all three have been touched by madness. Instead of safeguarding our people, they have failed their people, and now we cannot turn away from these signs that Londo is headed down the same path."

She allowed her words to sink in before continuing. "I have heard reports from the household in the Capital that Londo's memory is increasingly troubled – something I have also witnessed in our limited conversations these past few years – and whatever time we have had to figure out whether it is madness or manipulation has faded. I have, therefore, asked Phylakios for options, and he has presented one that, although promising, carries a great deal of risk with it." She nodded to Phylakios.

The General stood slowly, evaluating his audience, aware that his next words would not be taken lightly. "I have a plan," he said solemnly, "to incapacitate the Emperor." Phylakios scanned the aghast eyes of the group before he withdrew a small sachet and dangled it in the air. "It will find out the exact nature of whether the Emperor is mad or under the control of a minister or ministers, and it would determine our next actions."

" _Dust,_ " Vir gasped, his jaw moving back and forth. "He turned to Timov, "You can't seriously be considering such an attack?"

The group stared at the sachet of telepathic narcotic, waiting for Timov's verdict.

"It is not a decision I take lightly." Timov said solemnly. "You can be assured that my head would be the first to go if anything goes awry."

"Ours will swiftly follow," Dunsenny added.

"We must know what lies at the heart of Londo's actions," Timov said with resolve, "before we make a move to oppose him in the open. He will not tell us of his own free will, and there is no chance of getting a telepath past the palace gates."

"Do you forget," Dunsenny stood up, his chin shaking with anger, "that the Emperor is the _soul_ of the people? Without him, we cannot survive. And to use telepathic Dust to read his innermost thoughts - to rip them from his mind - is beyond assault, beyond murder, beyond any reason!"

"We cannot wait until these bombs are detonated across the whole of the nation," Timov replied calmly. "Phylakios," she turned back to the General. "There is little chance we will be recalled to the palace. How do you expect to be able to use the Dust if we cannot interact with Londo there?"

"It is, in fact, quite simple," Phylakios explained. "Rather than have any of you go to the palace to use the Dust on him, the Emperor will come here." Phylakios took another step forward before dropping the Dust back into his pocket and clasping his hands behind his back.

His voice dropped as he turned and faced the Empress solemnly, "Your Majesty is suffering from a long-term illness. If you were to 'collapse' from your illness, it is certain he would come to your side in an instant."

Timov considered this at length. "He will never forgive such a betrayal. He will not bear his affection being used against him lightly." She hesitated before continuing, "But we cannot ignore what appears to be a threat to millions of people across Centauri Prime." She looked back at Phylakios. "Time is of the essence. Send him the message that my condition has worsened," she said, her stomach turning.


	22. A Colossus Undone

Dunsenny left the Sea Palace, stalking the grounds with agitation in response to the meeting he had just left. With each step, unhappiness grew within his elderly frame, and he blindly ended up on the steps of the cottage belonging to Mariel and Daggair.

Mariel was reclining on the cottage patio when Dunsenny abruptly appeared, uncharacteristically frowning with frustration. Mariel pulled him inside by the arm, and Daggair looked up from the lounge she was inhabiting. Sensing the old man's distress, she immediately joined them, pouring him a drink while Mariel asked him, "What is bothering you, Dunsenny?"

At first, Dunsenny refused to discuss his grievances with them, but finally, he turned to Mariel, his usually calm demeanor disintegrating. "They mean to tear apart His Majesty's thoughts," he cried. "And where will it get us? He will still be the Emperor, and we will be dead. Traitors to the Crown, agitators who will have committed the _worst_ sort of treason."

Taking his hand, Mariel glanced at Daggair, both of their eyes sparkling as the opportunity dawned on them. They had had both fallen from Londo's affection at the time of their divorce, though neither of them had foreseen how drastically this would affect their futures. Mariel's ability to woo anyone with power among her own people had fallen as his star had risen. Daggair had her hopes of position and society dashed by her divorce with Londo as he became Prime Minister and then Emperor. Both Daggair and Mariel deeply regretted the falls their reputations had taken after their divorces to Londo.

When he had allowed them the courtesy of their residence, the shame they faced by Centauri culture faded, but they were still aware that the higher echelons of Centauri society were palpably afraid that the Emperor's wrath would fall on anyone that associated with them too closely. The opportunity that they sensed when Dunsenny stumbled into the cottage gave them the perfect chance to ingratiate themselves back into the Emperor's good graces, and they would not let the chance get away.

That evening, without a word to anyone, they packed traveling bags and made their way to the Capital City.

* * *

Palco approached the Emperor in his imperial office. "Your Majesty, there are two ladies here to see you."

"Oh?" Londo looked up from the paperwork on his desk with interest.

Palco's voice fell to a whisper, "Two of your ex-wives, Majesty. Lady Mariel and Lady Daggair."

Londo's inquisitiveness fell to chagrin. "The term 'ladies' might be stretching it a bit, I think." He stared at Palco for a moment before waving his hand dismissively, "Send them away. I have no desire to see them." But just as Palco reached the door, Londo stopped him. "On second thought," Londo's eyes narrowed, "I _will_ see them." He stood up and strode through the door. "Not here though – I will receive them in the throne room," he said over his shoulder with some self-satisfaction.

Shortly afterward, the two women entered the throne room, their eyes darting around the imposing room and taking in the royal guards as Londo watched their approach with apparent satisfaction.

"Why am I being graced with your presence?" Londo asked them, shifting his weight on the throne. "Are you trying to revisit the natural disaster that was our marriages?"

"Londo, we-," Daggair began.

"You may address me properly," Londo cut her off. "If we do not have our traditions, what do we have?"

The two women obligingly curtsied and addressed Londo with the required salutations. "Your Majesty," Daggair said sweetly, "we are here not on our behalf, but on yours."

"That I very much doubt," Londo replied under his breath.

"We have information," Mariel said softly, "that is for your ears only." She glanced at the royal guards.

"And what do you want in exchange for this information?" Londo asked suspiciously.

"Just your good will," Daggair glanced at Mariel, ". . . and whatever reward you think is appropriate."

Londo sat back, gazing at his ex-wives for a moment before he called Emanio to his side. "Were they searched before they entered the palace?" he whispered into his aide's ear, trying to ascertain their intentions. "Both of them have been _this close_ to putting me in my grave."

Emanio dipped his head, assuring the Emperor that the women carried no weapons under their lavish dresses.

Satisfied, Londo waved Emanio and the guards out, and then he turned to his ex-wives and waited for their explanation.

"We were talking with Dunsenny the other day," Daggair took a step toward the throne.

"I hope he isn't spending his retirement by taking another position with the two of you," Londo replied glibly.

"Oh, no," Mariel tittered, "He _came_ to us. He was _so_ upset."

"You are not cultivating him as a mine for your gossip gems, hmm?" Londo asked guardedly.

" _Never_ ," Daggair clasped her hands together with feigned modesty.

"Londo," Mariel stepped closer, putting a soft hand on his arm, "Its _Timov_."

"Oh, here we go," Londo rubbed his temples with one hand. "I _knew_ it. You are not happy with the cottage – which is a quaint term for a house larger than most mansions on this planet - or something she has said has upset you or . . . ."

Daggair stepped around to his other side, "It is _serious_ , Londo. Timov is planning to pretend to fall ill to lure you from the palace. She is going to use Dust to telepathically assault you. I guess she thinks there is something _wrong_ with you – that you've lost your mind. How absurd!"

Londo's vaguely smug look faded into unreadable stiffness.

"We thought you'd want to know," Mariel ran her finger along his sleeve.

"Her _position_ ," Daggair said conspiratorially, "has probably gone to her head. You put out that ridiculous statement years ago allowing her to act as a regent if you were incapacitated. It must be her plan to show you are mad so that she can take over."

"Can you imagine?" Mariel put a shocked hand to her chest, "Timov acting as Emperor!"

Neither Mariel or Daggair stopped to notice that Londo was breathing hard, his hands balled into fists. "That's not how it works," he said through clenched teeth. "No one has the authority to declare an Emperor incapacitated because of madness."

"Well then," Daggair shrugged, "who knows what she is up to. All we know is that she wants to get in your head for a sightseeing tour. Can you imagine?"

"We would never betray you like _that_ , Londo," Mariel added liltingly.

Londo stood up, "Do you know?" his voice rising with agitation, "why you are here? In this place? Who picked you out of desperation three years ago and gave you a new home?"

"Why, you did, Londo," Daggair replied.

"No," he pointed an angry finger at her. "It was Timov. You would be living off the streets if it wasn't for her. "She is the one who found you - who cared enough to ensure you were taken care of. And this is how you repay her generosity?"

Shocked, Mariel took a step back, "But Londo, we are here to save you from harm – maybe even to save your life."

"You have no idea what you have done," he said with a snarl. "Go home - I do not wish to see you again here - or to hear any more of your outlandish gossip." He turned to the door. "Guards!" his voice rang with authority, and the guards instantly appeared in the doorway.

Restraining himself, Londo gestured toward the door. His voice fell to a whisper, "Get out." He watched the guards escort the women out of the throne room as they glanced back at him with confusion.

Londo sank back into the throne, a shaking hand squeezing his eyes. He rested there for some time before he slowly got to his feet and made his way back to his private quarters, his guards trailing him until they took up positions at his door.

Inside, Londo waited expectantly until Shiv'kala emerged from the shadows.

"Treason," Shiv'kala hissed, "is punishable by death on Centauri Prime, is it not?"

"My ex-wives are scavengers," Londo said pointedly. "There is _no_ evidence that what they are saying is true, and _even if there was_ ," he emphasized, "you heard them. Timov doesn't _know_ _anything_."

"Even if she knows nothing, to plan such an attack on the Emperor of the Centauri Republic – it cannot be allowed," Shiv'kala said.

"Oh ho ho," Londo managed a contrived chuckle, "are you saying you are concerned for my well-being now?" He shook his head. "I don't need you to interfere with my marriage."

"Treason is every bit our concern," Shiv'kala said coldly.

"There is no _evidence_ ," Londo reiterated.

Shiv'kala blinked slowly. "You may be assured that if there is any, she will be dealt with swiftly."

Londo turned on his heel, fuming as he returned to the throne room, but just as he reached the grand entryway, Emanio breathlessly presented a tray with a single envelope laying on top of it. "Majesty," he gestured to the note, "there has been an emergency communique from the Sea Palace."

Londo swore under his breath before taking the envelope. Rather than immediately opening it, the Emperor merely fingered it, a grim look on his face. After tapping it with his finger for some time, he finally opened it, scanned its contents, and closed it again, laying it aside on the arm of his throne, before he crossed the room to the window.

As he stood there, Palco passed by, darting glances at Emanio who was still awkwardly standing in the middle of the room with a look of frantic concern on his face.

Palco placed a fresh decanter of brivari near the throne. "Majesty," he asked quietly, "is everything all right?"

Londo continued to stare out the window. "Do you know the story of the last _zilta_ bird on Centauri Prime, Palco?" he asked.

"No, Majesty," Palco poured a fresh glass from the decanter before replacing the crystalline lid.

"Z _ilta_ birds were large creatures, sometimes so large they could no longer fly, and they were hunted both by our people and the Xon," Londo said. "Their eggs were eaten as a delicacy, but one of the last eggs actually hatched in captivity. It was a miracle because before then, no one had any luck raising them. Our people knew the _zilta_ had been hunted nearly to extinction, and the bird was irreplaceable – likely the last of its kind. So, they took the _zilta_ to a nobleman who paid handsomely for the honor of owning it _._ The nobleman kept it inside, allowing it to grow into a large adult, and it lived in the interior courtyard of his family home. The courtyard protected the _zilta_ from those who might harm it and ensured it could not escape while it lived out the rest of its life – a long time to be sure, since the _zilta_ are reputed to have lived very long lives – 150 years or more." Londo returned his gaze out the window.

"That one – the last one," he continued, "lived for several decades, but one day, the _zilta_ 's handlers were not paying attention, and he got out of the courtyard and into the main house. They found him at a window, looking out over the countryside that stretched as far as the eye could see, and that night, the _zilta_ unexpectedly died after being returned to his courtyard. They say" he turned to face Palco, "that the _zilta_ did not die of captivity, he died when the idea of freedom was taken from him."

"It is a sad story, Majesty," Palco handed the glass of brivari to the Emperor.

"Yes," Londo threw a hand on the young man's shoulder as he took the glass with his other hand, grimacing. "It is."

He turned and gestured to Emanio. "Get the Defense Minister," he ordered, and Emanio fled the throne room, the sound of his ringing footsteps running through the palace's long hallways as he searched for Durla.

* * *

"A unified strike on the city of Porto would send the perfect message, would it not, Majesty?" the Minister of Defense clasped his hands behind him. "It will take care of your current problem," he nodded toward the envelope still resting on the arm of the throne. "And it will also ensure the rioters and hotheads of the South reconsider their periodic protests." The Defense Minister withdrew a map from an inner pocket of his coat. Unrolling it, he pointed out the Sea Palace's position nearby the town. "Such a strike would send a message," Durla added, "to anyone who opposes your reign."

Londo stared at the plans prepared by the Defense Minister. The Minister's suggestion had enough firepower to rocket Centauri Prime out of orbit, let alone destroy one seaside town. Londo stared at the plans, weighing his fleeting alternatives. "You will wait," he instructed Durla, "until the Princess is traveling and away from the Sea Palace. When the Empress is isolated - by herself - then," he tapped the plans, "you will proceed with a surgical operation." He explained the required military action to Durla, and when the Defense Minister rolled up the plans again, the Minister snapped his heels together, "It will be done with precision, Your Majesty."

"Durla!" Londo stopped the Minister before he could depart. "This mission must be kept top-secret. The public must not know. I would spare Timov the reputation of a traitor."

"Of course, Majesty," Durla bowed and exited briskly.

Londo watched the Defense Minister retreat, and a shadow passed over his face as he stared at the doorway through which the Defense Minister had disappeared, his fingers curling around his fresh glass of brivari. He threw the dark liquid back before glancing at the invisible parasite sitting on his shoulder. "I hope you are satisfied," he said with a growl before abruptly flinging the glass and watching it shatter against the wall.


	23. The Taming of the Shrewd

Timov was alone, reading the latest reports on the bombs located throughout Centauri Prime as she lay in her bed. Phylakios's contacts had searched local records to reconstruct when each water purification tower had been constructed. Interestingly, the unmarked bombs on the Emperor's map had been constructed while Regent Virini still occupied the throne.

"How odd," Timov thought as she studied the dates. She thought on this development before pushing the papers to the side of the bed. She had put Vir in charge of finding options to dismantle the bombs, but he had not yet formulated any plausible plans. She lay back, exhausted. The long days and nights had been taking their toll on her, and as soon as her eyes closed, she drifted into a deep slumber.

In the middle of the night, a cascade of light flashed violently exploded in her vicinity, and although she momentarily registered a loud explosion nearby, she felt a searing pain before she faded into unconsciousness.

* * *

The Defense Minister appeared in the throne room with a smugly satisfied look on his face, and he presented an embossed envelope to the Emperor.

Londo took the note that was offered to him under the royal seal and read it silently. The Defense Minister watched the Emperor closely, but the Emperor gave away nothing, save a long, hardened stare at the note. Finally, the Emperor snapped the note closed again and thrust it back at the Defense Minister, dismissing him wordlessly.

* * *

Senna was preparing to present royal honors to several nobles in Caraceno when she noticed a commotion near the door. Her eyes trailed a newcomer as he darted between people, making his way to Vir's side before whispering at length in his ear. Vir's face paled as he looked sharply at the man. Immediately, Vir followed the man, disappearing into the corridor behind the ceremonial receiving room appropriated for the ceremony.

Senna returned to the business in front of her, but halfway through the ceremony, she noticed Vir sneaking back in through a side door. Although he waited near the back of the room, Senna could see something was bothering him as his hands twisted nervously.

As soon as the ceremony ended, Senna quickly congratulated the recipients of the honors before excusing herself and making her way to Vir's side, catching his arm. "Is something wrong?" But before he responded, she could see how serious it was. "Has someone died?" she asked softly.

Vir stared at his shoes, unsure of what to say.

* * *

Emanio approached the Emperor swiftly, abruptly halting as he waited for the Emperor to acknowledge him. At his nod, Emanio closed the gap with two quick strides. "The Princess wishes to speak with you on your private channel, Majesty."

Londo did not respond immediately. When he did, his response was measured. "Tell her that I am busy preparing a nationwide address."

Emanio blinked. Although the Emperor often purposely avoided the Empress's communications, he never evaded the Princess, and he was usually keen to speak with her. Since the previous day, Emanio had noted the Emperor's temper had been unusually on edge, and because speaking with the Princess always returned him to an amicable mood, Emanio had been relieved when she appeared on the Emperor's personal communications console, although she had seemed unusually stressed.

Emanio backed up haltingly, pausing in case the Emperor changed his mind.

"You can tell her," Londo called after him, "that when I make my address, it should answer any questions she has."

* * *

Emanio marked the passage of five days in the Emperor's diary during which the Emperor said little, but when he did, his temper was short, his nerves were frayed, and he paced the palace until he had practically worn a track into the marble.

On the fifth day, the Defense Minister again appeared in the throne room.

"Apologies, Majesty," Durla walked toward the throne. "There was some delay in moving between here and Porto, due to the necessity of ensuring the secrecy that you requested."

"Where is she now?" The Emperor asked quietly.

"She is being held in solitary confinement in the dungeon," Durla replied. "As you ordered."

The Emperor turned toward the far side of the room, his back to the Defense Minister. "And what is her condition?" he asked quietly.

"She suffered minor physical abrasions from the flash bomb that was used to ensure the success of the mission with the least possible resistance. Before rendering aid, I thought it would be prudent to allow her to experience a little physical discomfort – to ensure her cooperation with the investigation in preparation for her questioning and trial, of course."

Londo turned back toward the Defense Minister, a look of disbelief on his face. "Did you say she has suffered injuries and no one has treated them?"

" _Minor_ injuries, Majesty," Durla smiled weakly.

The Emperor stared at him. "Five days," he said finally, muttering under his breath as he paced room. "But she has received her daily injection, yes?"

The Defense Minister's eyes darted helplessly, "Injections, Majesty?"

"Yes," a low, menacing growl emanated from the Emperor, "her dexycylodox injections?"

"I'm not aware of any injections, sire." Durla looked genuinely puzzled. "Perhaps you forgot to mention them . . . " he offered weakly.

The Emperor looked stricken at the words. "She requires a dexycylodox injection _every day_ ," he said angrily. "You were meant to bring her directly here, and now you tell me she did not receive her injections?"

"As I said, Majesty, the measures to ensure secrecy took longer than we expected," Durla stammered. He sensed that he should depart as quickly as possible. "With your Majesty's permission," he continued "we will interrogate the prisoner…."

"No," Londo cut off the Minister's question in mid-sentence.

"But Your Majesty, how can we uncover the-."

Londo turned on the Minister with a deadly look in his eye. "I said no! She is still the Empress of the Centauri Republic, not a prisoner you have dragged in from the streets. Do you understand?"

The Minister bowed his assent in the matter and departed, leaving the Emperor alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Senna gripped Vir's sleeve tightly as the Emperor's image appeared in a nationwide address, his hands clasped behind him.

"I am afraid that I must share some disquieting news with you." Seriousness framed the Emperor's features. "The Empress," he said, a note of melancholy in his voice, "has been diagnosed with a serious illness, and I have recalled her here, to the palace, for treatment. I know that all of you have come to know her through her public duties, and over the last few years, she has traveled tirelessly on behalf of our people. I am afraid, however, that it has taken its toll on her personal health, and for that reason, she will not be appearing in public until when . . . _and if_ . . . her health is adequately restored."

As the Emperor welcomed the country's prayers on her behalf, Senna's fingers dug into Vir's arm. "Why would he lie, Vir?" she said, horrified. "There is physical damage to the Sea Palace – and Phylakios' and his soldiers were wounded in the exchange with the Emperor's troops. It doesn't make any sense. He must have seen through Phylakios' plan when he received the false message that Timov had fallen ill."

Vir's mouth hung open as he watched the address conclude, tears clouding his eyes. He had nothing to offer, no explanation for Londo's strange behavior. "I can't believe he has done this," Vir said as the Emperor's image faded from the screen, "It looks like you were right all along." He turned back to Senna, "But maybe this means she is still alive, and he doesn't intend to put her on trial for treason."

Senna bit her lips before she sat up straighter. "We will continue the work Timov started, whatever has happened to her. We _must_."

Vir wanted to protest, to tell her it was too dangerous, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He could never live with himself if he didn't continue, and he knew he couldn't rob Senna of the same opportunity. "Yes," he said, "together." He had never told her that he had brought down an emperor before, and now it looked as if he would have to do so again.

* * *

Londo sent for a dexycylodox injection to be delivered to him, and as he waited, he stared wordlessly out his bedroom window, his thoughts plaguing him when the distinctive swish of Shiv'kala's presence rocked him from his thoughts.

"You have brought her to us. You are learning, it seems. Unless you thought that we would simply forget about her now that she is locked away in the dungeon?"

"Leave her be," Londo said, a note of resignation in his voice. "Whatever she has done or planned to do has not been against you, it has been against me. It is _I_ that should be angry - not you. You have heard everything that I have heard – she knows nothing of you, and her plan was ended before it began."

"We are not convinced," Shiv'kala said coldly, "that it was such an isolated incident."

Londo rubbed his brow. "If it was not isolated, you may be assured that the head has been cut from the monster. The body will die with time."

"The head is not dead," Shiv'kala stared hard at Londo. "We wish this problem to be at an end."

Londo shook his head, sighing. "You do not understand. She does not hold a trivial position. The people will not stand for any harm that would come to her. It will only incite them against me. Leave her where she is. She is no threat to you there."

Shiv'kala paused at this statement. "She has challenged your rule - and you are our servant. We cannot let this stand, and neither will you. If she derives her power from her position, then first you will rob her of it and then you will execute her."

Londo turned to Shiv'kala, facing him head on. Londo had fought these battles before, and he had always lost. They had broken him long before, and now he had nothing to barter with, nothing to offer to ensure her life would be spared. "No," he said simply, his voice devoid of the fire and anger he had waged at Shiv'kala in the past.

Shiv'kala breathed in slowly, summoning his energy. "You would defy us in this matter?"

Londo shook his head. "My marriage is my private affair, alone. It does not belong to you. It is my choice, and you will not drag it from me. And she has the support of the people for all the things she has done these past few years for them. A gesture such as putting her on trial for treason, especially now, would cause more damage among the people than it is worth. She is a captive here, and any rebellion she might have thought to incite will be at an end without her at the helm to guide it."

Shiv'kala narrowed his eyes, "We will consider your words. You will keep her in solitary confinement until our decision about her fate is made. It will ensure the disease of rebellion spreads no further."

Londo nodded his understanding once before he returned to looking out the window, and the Drakh faded away into the darkness as the doctor arrived with the dexycylodox.

* * *

There was little light in Timov's cell, and Timov could only mark the passage of time by the delivery of her food three times a day. And three times a day, the gloved hands of her captors took it away, barely touched. No one spoke to her, and the silence stretched over her cell like an open grave.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the cell doors opened, and the light from the dungeon's hallway streamed over a figure whose outline she knew well. "Close the door," she heard the low tone of her husband's voice as he gave his instructions to the guards. The clang of the door and the click of the lock preceded the sound of the slow and pensive sound of his tread as he approached her. The creak of his garments and the nearness of his breath told her that he was leaning close to her. "Timov," she heard him call gently before she felt a light hand on her shoulder. His touch seared her, for her nerve endings were on fire without her daily medication. She was too weak to draw her hand away from him, though she flinched at his touch. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

Timov did not respond. She was honestly not sure if she was all right considering the imperial troops that had descended upon her in the night, her chambers lighting up by the glow of the flash bomb, and the fingernails of men in royal uniforms scarring her skin as they ripped her from her slumber. And the only man who could have ordered this was kneeling next to her, asking if she was all right. She knew Londo's faults as a man and a husband all too well, but until now, she had not considered that his intentions toward her had ever been vicious or ill intentioned.

"Timov, _please_ ," his voice held a note of desperation.

She could not bring herself to move, the pain from her disease and the injuries she had sustained in the attack was overwhelming.

She heard Londo rustling in his waistcoat for a few moments. "I have your injection," he told her before she felt a prick of pain. "Unfortunately, you will not feel much relief right away," Londo cleared his throat before continuing. "The doctor said that if you had missed any injections, it would take nearly a week before you feel better – it must saturate your system again, but it is too dangerous to administer any more than this at a time."

But as the dexycylodox moved through her bloodstream, she did feel a small measure of relief, and at last she cracked her eyes to see Londo kneeling next to her, concern on his face. He did not notice her watching him, as he was busy staring at the blood on her nightgown.

"Contrary to all those times when you told me I could not manage minor bandages, I _did_ learn how to use a basic med kit when I was in the military." He frowned as he stared at the gashes in her flesh caused by the flash bomb. He carefully removed the tattered nightgown she was wearing at the time of the attack piece by piece, and he treated each wound as he uncovered them. "I know what you are thinking," he said as he cut away another portion of her nightgown, still unaware she was watching him. "You are thinking to yourself that it is a good thing I am Emperor because I would not have made a very good lady-in-waiting. But I would remind you that I know how to get you out of your clothes," he chuckled to himself before glancing at her, but when he saw that she was watching him, his smile faded. "There is just a little more, my dove. I will try to make it as fast and painless as possible."

Timov blinked slowly before her eyelids drooped closed again, and Londo returned to the task of cleaning her wounds. Timov acquiesced wordlessly as he peeled away the tatters of her dress. She stiffened as the cloth tore open her scabbed wounds, but she bit hard into her lip to keep from crying out. She periodically inhaled sharply, letting him know she was still conscious, and she bore the painful process wordlessly.

Fortunately, though some of her wounds had bled profusely, none of them were serious or deep, and Londo diligently cleaned away the caked blood from her skin before treating the abrasions with a topical wound cleaner, and applying clean bandages.

"I want you to know," he said quietly, "that you were not meant to be harmed. There may have been some overzealousness by the Minister of Defense after he was apprised of your plot."

Timov's blue eyes tiredly cracked open again.

Londo stood, gently lifting her from the stone slab so that he could wrap the final bandage. Slowly, he wound the bandage around her torso. "I don't want to tell you how to run your insurgency," he glanced at her with a warning in his eyes, "but if anyone else was involved, I don't have to tell you that punishment will be swift."

Timov felt tiredness overwhelming her, and darkness descended as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

When she awoke again, hours later, she found herself in fresh clothes, wrapped in clean linens. She saw Londo wedged in the corner against the dungeon's stone walls, sleeping. His head was resting on one of his fists, and she wondered how long he had been there as she slipped back into a troubled slumber.

Hours later, she awoke again, and Londo had disappeared, but beside her was a fresh meal, though she left it untouched. Her nerves made her body feel like it was on fire, and she felt that if she ate, she would not be able to stomach it.

Later that day, Londo returned, administering her injection before gently checking her bandages. Though she again was silent, he tried to cheer her up by recounting his day in detail, animatedly recounting the worst parts of the cabinet meeting, and when she said nothing, he filled the silence with tales of Centauri folklore.

Thus began a nightly ritual. At first, his presence troubled her after her ordeal, but she found that when he did not come, she came to miss it. And on the twelfth night of his coming, after most of her pain from her Lake's Syndrome had subsided with consistent injections and her wounds had improved, she finally found her voice again. "Why have you brought me here? Are you planning to kill me?"

Londo drew in a sharp breath at the first words she had spoken in nearly two weeks, and he struggled to respond. "Do you believe I would do that to you?"

"I don't know," Timov responded, her momentary strength fading away. "I thought I knew you quite well after all these years of marriage, and now I'm not sure I know you at all." She closed her eyes as she leaned against the cold stone wall of the dungeon. "I used to think a noble house held some sort of information over your head and that is what made you act so contrary to yourself, but now it is clear some sort of madness has hold of you." Timov opened her eyes again to see his reaction, but Londo did not respond.

Tension in his face was illuminated by in the dungeon's low flickering light. "I brought you here to protect you," he responded at last, looking wounded.

Timov shook her head as her memory felt the fingertips of his soldiers tearing her from her bed once again. "If you consider this protection," she waved at her weakened state, "your standards have fallen."

"At last, you admit that I _have_ standards," he replied with the hint of a smile. "And anyway, you are not dead – that is _something_ in itself."

Timov gazed at him weakly. "The one to protect me from is yourself. You are the Emperor, this country bows to your every whim, and it is _you_ who has imprisoned me in this dungeon," she sighed.

"I know what you were plotting," he became serious, his voice falling to a whisper, "I could not allow it to continue, nor would my ministers or my guards. The only place you would be safe is here," he turned away, "and even then, I cannot promise it."

"Do you not hear how irrational that sounds?" she replied. When he did not respond, she asked, "Who runs this government - you or your ministers?"

"It is a good question," was all he would answer.

"How did you find out about the Dust?" she asked suspiciously.

Londo thought a moment, clearly weighing what he should tell her, before he responded. "You don't need to worry about that. That situation has resolved itself. What I do need to know," he struck his most authoritarian tone, "is who, _if anyone_ , is also involved in your plotting against me?"

Observing Londo's warning and his demeanor, Timov murmured, "You may put me on trial, Londo, and you may relieve my head from my body, but you won't find anyone else plotting against you, if that is what you mean. I was worried about you – that is all. Anyone who found out about it tried to discourage me from my actions. I accept responsibility – alone – for the message that was sent."

She detected a note of relief in his eyes. He nodded, "All right," he accepted her explanation without furthering questioning.

Timov closed her eyes, wondering why he asked only minimal questions and seemed disinclined to pursue his questioning about the incident. Though it was unlike him not to rage on about such a matter – especially such a grave issue - she also did not want him to pursue it further, for it would put Senna and Vir in danger.

To her relief, his tone hardened into a command, "We will not discuss it again."

* * *

When Londo appeared again the next evening to dress her wounds again, Timov considered that he seemed to be spending every free moment in the dungeon. Motioning toward the palace, she asked, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

Londo studied the dungeon floor, "I do not want you to be alone." Gazing at her again, he added, "I know what it is like to be alone, night after night. It is not something I would wish on anyone."

"You are two people, Londo Mollari," she accused him, her voice shaking with the weakness of her ordeal. "The one who comes to me at night and shows me kindness, and the one who murders his people in the daylight." She waited for a reply, but he offered nothing in response.

After several minutes, when he finally found his voice, it was imbued with melancholy. "Perhaps you are right and it is a sort of madness that surrounds me."

For the first time since he had starting visiting her in the dungeon, Timov found his hand with hers. "It isn't too late, Londo. There are doctors - specialists that can help you if you are suffering from madness."

Londo rubbed his tired face. Seeing to his duties during the day and spending every night in the dungeon was beginning to take its toll on him. "Madness in an emperor is a fatal condition," he replied reservedly.

"Then, you know it is affecting you?" Timov asked, wondering how aware her husband was of his erratic behavior.

He studied her quietly before responding. "Of course I know _what_ is affecting me," he admitted at last. "But I am powerless against this sort of madness. It is funny, is it not, that during the day I am surrounded by sycophants who will do anything I ask, but it is you, a prisoner, who is the only person brave enough to tell me what she truly thinks."

"You could abdicate," Timov drew Londo's hand closer.

"I am powerless to do anything, Timov." The dim light reflected the pain and sadness written on his face. "Now, let us not talk of things we cannot change."

Timov considered this. She had suspected that his position - along with his ego - prevented him from seeking any sort of treatment for whatever he was suffering from. The traditional Centauri cure for such things was a knife in the back or poison in the food. Everyone had suspected - but no one cared to prove - the exact cause of Cartagia's mysterious heart attack. Cartagia's madness had been a uniquely Centauri problem, and it had been dealt with in the traditional Centauri way. To admit that an emperor might suffer from insanity would never be allowed by the noble families, though it had clearly happened before. How far it would be allowed to run its course before anyone did something about it was likely a question of time.

Londo filled the rest of the evening as he did every night, with stories of his day, anecdotes about the palace staff, tidbits of interstellar news, and careful treatment of her wounds. When she was too tired to stay awake, he fell asleep at her side, waking again before dawn. As he prepared to return to his royal duties, he turned to her, "Tell me what I can bring you to fill your time."

"A knife, some poison, a PPG if you have one, anything of that ilk will do. And a book to pass the time."

Londo snorted, "The last one I can manage. The others would pose a serious threat to my health. Now what would you like to read?"

"You may bring me the memoirs of Empress Sandolina," she managed a smile at the thought.

Annoyed, Londo stood up, "Only _you_ would ask for the biography of the one woman in Centauri history who murdered an emperor and took over his power when you are imprisoned in the dungeon for nearly the same thing."

Closing her eyes, Timov replied, "I just didn't want you to think that imprisoning me will cure my obstinacy."

"I know better than that," Londo kissed her hand softly.

"Wiser and wiser," Timov murmured, their fingers still twined.

"Until later then," he disappeared through the door.

Timov watched the door through which he had disappeared for some time, and she wondered if she was succumbing to Stockholm syndrome, but she was satisfied as she considered that Londo's reluctant acknowledgement of the illness she suspected might be the first step in helping him overcome it.


	24. The Constant Whisper of His Conscience

When Londo appeared in the evening, he brought a bottle with him, setting a glass beside Timov. "I thought you might have a nightcap with me," he said, filling her glass with a tawny colored brivari. He rubbed his tired and drawn face.

"You know I hardly touch that filth," Timov frowned at the glass.

"It is a therapeutic nightcap," Londo said, "and it will make you feel better while I check the last of your bandages."

"Therapeutic? That's a fairytale told by brivari makers to sell more brivari. You just want someone to drink with you," she said, taking the glass with an exasperated expression.

"It is not a fairytale," Londo shook a finger at her before he pulled out her injection and administered it, laying the syringe aside when he was done. "This brivari is from the foothills of Tibalia, and it was aged in barrels with the root of _tyranas_ , which will help with your pain."

Timov snorted, "Drink enough brivari, and you won't feel any pain at all."

"That is the point, my love," Londo threw back his glass before refilling it. "And as you can see, I'm reduced to having a drink with my wife, which just goes to show how very far I have fallen."

Ignoring his comment, Timov sipped the brivari. "It is really quite repelling," she set it back down.

Londo watched her, shaking his head at last. "You are worse than Vir."

"Vir?" Timov sat up straighter as Londo began to unwrap her bandages. "He is the most sensible Centauri I know. Senna has made an excellent choice."

Londo glanced up from his work on treating her wound, squinting hard in the dim light. "What do you mean 'made an excellent choice?'"

Timov watched her husband carefully. "Senna has been spending a great deal of time with Vir. They are hardly ever apart."

Londo straightened, "Pah!" he said, dismissing her comment. "I _told_ him to look after her, and he is always diligent – _too_ diligent if you ask me – about his duties. He would not-." Londo looked up sharply and then shook his head, "-No." Glancing back at Timov, he shook his head again. "It cannot be."

Timov said nothing, merely staring back at him, both eyebrows raised as she folded her arms.

Londo returned to unwrapping her bandages, concentrating on the task with a peculiarly intense look. "Speaking of Senna," he glanced back at Timov, "I would like to ask you a favor."

Timov watched Londo replacing her bandages, grimacing when he touched a particularly sensitive abrasion. "What is it, Londo?" she gasped as the pain riveted through her.

"A letter," Londo glanced back at her momentarily before returning to his task. "For Senna." He paused for a moment. "She is worried about you. It would be good to reassure her that you are all right."

Remembering the flash bomb and the brutal events of her last night in Porto, Timov responded, "I can't imagine why she might worry." When Londo offered no response, Timov added, "What have you told her?"

"What I have told everyone," Londo told her. "That I recalled you to the palace because of your illness."

"You have given me precious little detail of what actually happened that night. How many people died? What happened to Phylakios and my guards? Where are the people I employed at the Sea Palace?"

Londo studied the floor, "I have not enquired," he said softly. "The Minister of Defense was left in charge of the details."

Although she wanted to question him about whether he had any care at all for his people, for the first time in as she could remember, she held her tongue. She knew it would get her nowhere, and Londo was her only link to the outside world. Angering him would do her no good, so she changed the topic as she observed Londo's lip curl when he mentioned the Minister of Defense. "You don't care for Durla much, do you?" she asked.

"The Minister of Defense?" Londo replied before he threw back another glass of brivari. Leaning in close to her, he whispered, "Just between you and me," his eyes were glassy from the alcohol, "I don't like the company he keeps very much."

"I see," Timov watched him closely, but he offered nothing more. "I will write the letter for Senna on one condition."

"What is it?" Londo asked.

"Release me from this imprisonment, and I shall do whatever you like. Failing that, allow me to return to the residence, upstairs. You will be causing all sorts of gossip among the staff and the nobles by keeping me here, and even more by staying here yourself – the dungeon is no place for an emperor. Besides, I'm not inclined to run away. If you are going to put me on trial, I will endure it of my own free accord. You have always said you want to die with your boots on – well I wish to die in the sunlight, not in the darkness of a dungeon. And if you will grant none of those things, then let me escape the ghosts of the prisoners who died in this dungeon to have a walk outside so that I might enjoy the sunlight once more."

Londo did not reply for some time, and when he finally did, his voice was thick with emotion. "I cannot grant your requests."

Timov watched Londo struggle with his emotions, and she felt as if she could almost see his mind tearing itself apart.

"Let me give you your injection," he searched his waistcoat for the tube.

Timov put a hand on his arm to stop him, showing him the empty syringe with the other hand, "You already gave it to me, Londo. Don't you remember?"

"You are sure?" He blinked in confusion before he shrugged his shoulders, "I was sure that . . . I must have forgotten."

"You are getting older," Timov said carefully, "and you have been under a great deal of stress. Perhaps if you saw a doctor . . . ."

"I _cannot_ see a doctor," Londo's voice rose angrily as his patience waned. "Do not ask me again!"

When he saw Timov was taken aback by his outburst, Londo contritely added, "I'm sorry – as you say, I have been under some stress . . . ." He looked away ashamedly, "I am trying to avoid the spectacle of a trial for you, Timov, and whatever sentence it might hold. I have hope that I might be able to release you _one day_ , but until then, you must be patient." He looked at her intently, "Please. Be patient with me." He spread his hands out, "With this. No matter how long it takes." He buried his head in his hands before he looked up and took hold of her hands, "I know this situation is trying, but seeing you again . . . ." His voice trailed off.

"You are the one who sent me away," Timov gently reminded him.

"Yes, I did," Londo agreed. "And I would do it again for the peace of mind it brought me to make sure you were safely out of this place, but the circumstances have changed." He sighed before abruptly looking up, "I have decided to have one of the dungeon chambers renovated for you – so that it is somewhat habitable."

Waving at her stone surroundings, Timov replied, "I certainly won't turn down better accommodations, Londo, but can you not see how inappropriate it is for the emperor to be spending his free time in the dungeon? It is unhealthy for your mental state, at the very least."

Londo glanced at the walls, the chains still buckled against the stone. "I have spent time in this place before, though I could not leave it as I can now."

"Oh," Timov thought back, "with that Narn when you were Prime Minister."

Londo looked sharply back at his wife, "His name is G'Kar."

"I know perfectly well what his name is," Timov replied. "He is the most famous Narn in the universe, and not by a small degree. But I don't generally approve of keeping company with anyone being held prisoner in a dungeon, Narn or otherwise."

Londo chuckled heartily, "But look," he stood up theatrically, "I am keeping _you_ company in a dungeon, so it cannot be all bad, no?"

"Oh Londo," Timov rolled her eyes, "sit down."

When Londo had finished laughing, he sat down again, patting her knee with a grin.

A touch piqued, Timov said, "You forget, husband, that I've witnessed you cursing Narns until your voice gave out, so what did this one do to merit such a change of your hearts?"

Londo sat back against the cold stone wall, pursing his lips in thought. "I don't know," he said, trying to dismiss the subject. At last he added, "He was quite irritating, actually. I'm sure it has only gotten worse as his fame has spread."

Timov watched Londo's wistful look and his light tone, and she was entirely unconvinced by his words. "He sounds rather like Divinio. He irritated you to no end, and yet I found you drunk with him and Urza practically every night."

Londo thought on this a moment, "Yes, you are right. He drinks, he fights, and he exasperates me. Just like Divino before he died. Perhaps they switched bodies during the war."

"I was always surprised your father didn't adopt Divinio – you were closer with him than you were with your own brother," Timov replied.

"I haven't thought about Divinio in years and years and years," Londo laid his head against the stone wall. "You are right, there was perhaps something Narn about Divinio, and there is something Centauri about G'Kar."

"The irritating part?" Timov smiled.

"No," Londo glared at her, "that is most certainly the Narn part. But," Londo pointed to her brivari, "I can tell you that G'Kar is a more enjoyable drinking companion than you or Vir."

"About that letter," she returned to the subject of Senna's letter with a sigh, "I will write it even though you refuse to grant me the simplest of requests. I don't wish Senna to worry needlessly. I suppose . . ." her voice trailed off momentarily, ". . . you would prefer if I didn't mention that you have imprisoned me?"

Londo acknowledged her statement with a wordless nod. Putting an arm around her, he allowed himself to become her pillow in the stone chamber, and as she was drifting asleep, Timov heard him grumble, "You are sure about Senna and Vir?"

"Yes," she watched his reaction, but although his brow furrowed, he merely grunted.

"I've been reading the book about Empress Sandolina – her life is fascinating, and she did do quite a few good things for our country," Timov said.

"Besides kill her husband, you mean?" Londo snorted.

"Beyond that, Londo, she did a great many things. Her works are quite forgotten because of how her reign ended, but she pulled our people from a troubled time."

"Where is this going?" Londo asked, annoyance piquing his voice.

"You are not a young man, anymore, Londo, and I was thinking of Senna. She might be the breath of fresh air that our country could use."

Londo stared at her, "Senna? As Emperor?" he shook his head. "It is not possible. The line of succession does not allow it – after Empress Sandolina, women were no longer allowed to inherit the throne."

"I mean," Timov said, shaking her head, "in another time, if it _were_ allowed, do you not think she would do a good job? She has an intellect and a poise that not all emperors have been blessed with."

Londo shrugged, "I admit that she has all the wits of a Refa and none of the malevolence exhibited by her former House. It would make an impressive combination. In another time," he gazed into the wall, "perhaps you are right and she would make a splendid ruler. But our laws will not change anytime soon, so," his eyes closed with sleepiness, "it is useless to give it another thought."

"But," she laid a hand on his chest, "in another time, would you have considered it? I know how much you value our traditions, but I wonder if the decisions made during Sandolina's reign were not mistakes."

Londo thought for some time before responding. "In another time, I would have considered it," he nodded, closing his eyes again. She watched him for a few minutes, before she closed her eyes as well, allowing sleep to drift over her.

Later, Timov awoke, and she heard Londo snoring soundly. Her thoughts returned to her situation - and that of the entire country being under the thumb of an emperor who was losing his mind. Londo had left the brivari bottle and the glasses by her side – each easy enough to break into glass shards against the stone wall, although how she would manage it before he awoke, she was not sure. She considered that should could kill him while he was sleeping, but she was certain she was too weak to overpower him once he awoke, and the thought of killing him when he was so clearly suffering from some sort of madness turned her stomach, so she pushed it from her mind, still hoping that she might convince him to seek help, and short of that, perhaps she could help guide his thoughts down a saner path.

* * *

The Governor approached Ja'Toq with a spring in his step and a brightness on his face that Ja'Toq had not seen in some months.

"Ja'Toq," the colony Governor slapped him on the back, "are you still up for piloting that ship? Our patron has finally come through. It took him some years, but he assures me he has finally secured a vessel." He leaned in and whispered, "It is not top-rate, of course, but it will attract less attention that way, anyhow. And, he tells me there is a short window when no Centauri patrols will pick up its arrival and departure. It's pretty tight but . . . ."

"Yes!" the Narn sprang up from his resting place. "Of course I will pilot it. When do I leave?"

"Tonight," the Governor nodded. "I'll have to make some decisions about who will go with you, but you will leave for IA space immediately. And maybe you will return to do a few more runs, if you have it in you, and if there are more opportunities between patrols."

Ja'Toq stared at the Governor, thinking of how he never wanted to see the cursed planet again.

"Erhm," the Governor cleared his throat, "our patron specifically requested that you might be able to take a few more aliens to freedom. He said he would pay your expenses and ensure your way would be clear."

Ja'Toq looked over the colony. He didn't particularly get on with many of the telepaths and the other aliens, but he did owe his life to the colony's patron. "All right," he growled. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Timov and Londo's nightly routine continued for months, though Londo periodically failed to appear, sometimes for nights on end, just as he had disappeared during his nights in the palace. He would never explain his absence other than to apologize for his failure to appear, but Timov could sense something rougher and strained in his voice on those days.

The dungeon renovations gave Timov a sense of time she otherwise lacked, since they started shortly after Londo left her side every morning and ceased when he returned at night. After a few weeks of monotonous pounding in the cells nearby, Londo led Timov into the cells that had been renovated for her. Her new residence gave her an odd sense of normalcy, although she was reminded of her captivity by the lack of windows, the locked door, and her inability to see anyone but her husband. Nevertheless, she appreciated that there was now actual furniture rather than stone benches and a bath with running water. Palco, too, looked after her, for he sent her meals decorated with flower petals and her favorite drink twists of _encythemia_ , just as she liked it. There was no one else who drank twists of _encythemia_ , so she knew that, at least, Palco knew she was in the dungeon.

The silence in Timov's new residence was deafening, but she no longer had the odd sense of uneasiness she experienced when alone in the regular cells. She assumed it had to do with seeing the stains of blood on the wall, and knowing that countless prisoners had lost their lives in the dungeon. Londo had confirmed this when he had entered, troubled, one night, and he admitted that the renovations had revealed a number of prisoners' remains. He had not determined what he would do with them, but he had instructed the local lab to begin the process of identifying the remains. Though there was a great chance of identifying most of the Centauri, there was also a high probability that some of the remains belonged to Narn prisoners, and Timov could see that Londo was greatly troubled by the disposition of the remains considering the Centauri's current state of animosity with the Interstellar Alliance.

During her free time, Timov wrote Senna letters, careful to mention nothing of the activities in the South that would raise Londo's suspicions or his ire, and on the top of each letter, she drew a small _baguan_ bird, the signal the group of conspirators had decided on previously to indicate that a situation was not safe. She trusted the _baguan_ bird would keep Senna from intruding into palace affairs too closely or writing anything suspicious in the letters, and she was rewarded with congenial but nondescript letters from her adopted daughter, a small _baguan_ bird likewise embellishing her royal stationary.

Besides the periodic letters that lit up her day, Timov marked the days of her captivity one-by-one in her diary. And every night, like clockwork, Londo would bring a nightcap which she would share with him by the dim light of her new residence, and he would often fall asleep next to her, his constant touch a reassuring memory of better days.

* * *

One night, several months into her captivity in the dungeon, Londo appeared not at the hour at which she was accustomed but far earlier in the day. He practically threw himself into the cell, his eyes wild. "I begged them," he fell to his knees. "I begged them to spare your life, but . . . ." His eyes teared up, and his chest heaved as his breath came faster and faster.

"Londo," Timov commanded him, "Get ahold of yourself! Slow down! I can't even understand what you are saying." She had rarely - if ever - seen him in such a state.

"They have made their decision," he said as tension strained his voice, "They would not spare your life." He couldn't quite catch his breath.

"Who is 'they'? Londo!"

Londo was clutching his chest and gasping for air. Even by the weak light of the dungeon, Timov could see he was turning gray as his jaw worked back and forth, struggling. She knew something was very, very wrong.

"Oh gods," she clasped his hands, "you are having another heart attack."


	25. The Second, and Yet, Not the Second

"Breathe, just breathe," Timov commanded Londo as his eyes glazed. He started to roll awkwardly forward toward her on his knees, but she caught his shoulder, easing him into a sitting position against the wall.

It occurred to Timov for a fleeting second that she could let him die there, that his heart attack presented a perfectly plausible resolution to the situation that she had been battling for years. All she had to do was to do nothing. She could simply stroll out of the cell and return to her life as a free woman, inheriting all of the wealth he had acquired as emperor. Her own status would rise from mere wife of the emperor to the venerated position of Empress Dowager. All of these things, it occurred to her in an instant, would happen if she simply did nothing, the easiest of all things to do.

But like his poisoning at the hands of Mariel, and as much as her mind argued against her, her conscience reminded her that she was just as incapable of killing him through inaction as she was through zealous plotting.

"Emperors do not die in dungeon cells, Londo Mollari," she chastised him half-heartedly as she saw how pale he was. "Is this how you wish to be remembered? As the Emperor who died in his own dungeon?"

She gathered up her dress, getting ready to go to the door when he tried to stop her with a hand, "Please," he pleaded, struggling to find his words. "I don't wish . . ." he paused, trying to catch his breath, " . . . to die alone."

"You're not going to die, Londo," she told him firmly, "I'm going to get help, and I will be back at your side in an instant." She ran to the door, pounding on it with all of her strength, though it seemed a rather feeble effort to her.

As she waited for the guards to open the door, she returned to his side, where he still struggled to breathe and clutched at his chest. Londo slumped sideways into her arms, trying to talk to her, but she shushed him and tried to calm him while help arrived.

At the sound of ruffling cloth, Timov glanced up, prepared to see a royal guard. Instead, in front of her stood a monster.

The Drakh had been a favorite in Centauri children's horror stories, and now there was one staring down at her. Instinctively, Timov pulled Londo closer, who, unaware of the new arrival, was slowly gasping.

"Is this some sort of a joke?" she asked sharply. "Whoever you are, go and get help. My husband needs a doctor immediately," she commanded with ferocity.

* * *

Shiv'kala gazed at the foolish Centauri woman giving him orders. "You have been told before. He cannot be examined in a medical facility," he rasped with irritation.

Shiv'kala watched the woman stare oddly at him, pulsating with anger when he did not move. "Why not?" she demanded.

Using their telepathic link, Shiv'kala commanded the keeper to reveal itself, and Timov gasped as the organism appeared before her on Londo's shoulder, its eye wide and twitching.

"What is that?" she asked with horror.

"It is called a keeper," Shiv'kala leaned toward her. "It is linked to our servant through his nervous system. We can hear and see everything he does – and inflict untold pain, when necessary."

Shiv'kala turned toward the keeper whose one eye was darting swiftly around.

" _Do not be afraid_ ," he told the keeper telepathically, sensing that the keeper was also experiencing its host's pain and distress.

"Your servant?" Timov's eyes darted to Londo's pale face and back to the Drakh. "What servant has chains bound around his neck? He looks like a slave – or a prisoner."

Shiv'kala shrugged. "Whatever you like. He _belongs_ to us."

Shiv'kala turned to watch the Empress's anger turn to surprise and surprise turn to fear, but to her credit, she kept her wits about her, and she focused on the situation before her. "He needs help _._ Please!" It was clear that the woman could neither move Londo from the cell by herself, nor call anyone else to enter if Mollari had commanded them to stay away nor would she be able to physically fight him, and the moments to treat the Emperor's heart attack were ticking away.

" _Please_ ," she repeated, desperately.

Shiv'kala cocked his head, taking in the specimen before him. The Drakh had not considered that Londo's body might give out under the strain. Had they considered that the Emperor was susceptible to a heart attack, they might have reconsidered the decision that his wife be killed over his vehement protests.

Shiv'kala considered that he could let Mollari die, but Mollari had been moderately compliant, at least, of late, and training a new emperor would take time and resources, let alone a new plan of succession. It was all very tiresome, and for this, the Drakh were willing to sacrifice a little.

At last, Shiv'kala said, "Releasing a keeper can be fatal for its host. It is . . . _possible_ to release a keeper without killing the host, but it takes time. I can keep him alive in the meantime, but . . ." Shiv'kala's features drew back into the semblance of a dark smile, "we cannot do this without an understanding."

"What understanding?" Timov asked quickly.

"We will allow him to live if you will accept the keeper in his place. He will be relieved of all of his memories of the Drakh while he is in the hospital."

Timov appeared ready to wretch, "So this is the madness that surrounds him - this thing you have wrapped around his neck! Is that how you have been controlling him?"

Shiv'kala smiled. "You are as shrewd as he gives you credit for, it seems."

"How long has it been on him?" she asked.

"Since the day he became Emperor," Shiv'kala replied. "He has learned that he cannot fight us, as you will learn. Why else would he mistakenly put a coutari through Traco?"

Timov's eyes widened at the revelation. "You forced him to . . . young Traco? . . . It wasn't Cartagia's contraptions?" she said as the realization dawned on her. At that moment, another realization hit her, "And Carn?" she asked after Londo's nephew.

"Hardly worth a day's work, that one," Shiv'kala shrugged.

" _You_ ," she finally gasped, hurling the word as Londo slumped hard against her, his pulse racing as he struggled to breathe. Gritting her teeth, she choked back her bile at the news. "Do it, just do it."

Shiv'kala moved forward quietly, closing his eyes as he placed a hand on his servant's shoulder. The Drakh Entire had discovered the science of slowing the body's processes as a way to maintain their wounded and save their dying. Now, Shiv'kala used this ability to slow Londo's heartrate and his breathing, telepathically inducing unconsciousness. As he did so, Shiv'kala induced a mental block, creating holes wherever memories concerning the Drakh and their involvement on Centauri Prime were stored.

Then, Shiv'kala recalled the keeper, instructing it to disentangle from its host's nervous system. With each major ruptured nerve, the keeper would have to fuse together the nerve endings with its own biological fluid. Most importantly, where the keeper had attached to the brain stem and the spine, the process was a delicate one, for the host could easily die as the nerves were manipulated, and the Drakh had often used the disentanglement process to rip the spinal cord from the host, a particularly effective method of fatally discarding their victims when they had outlived their usefulness.

After some time, the keeper sprang from Londo's shoulder and crawled up its new host.

Usually, the joining of a keeper and its host required both a medical surgery to ensure a seamless physical connection and voluntary acquiescence to ensure the mental link, but there had been no time or plan for the required surgery. Because Timov had not been properly prepared for the joining, the keeper inserted its tentacles into the flesh of her shoulder, causing her to wince with pain as it searched for her neural pathways, but it had difficulty making the required initial connection.

After some time watching the keeper helplessly searching for the connection with its tentacles, Shiv'kala hissed an epithet and motioned to the keeper to join his chest again. Like a fish out of water, the keeper required an immediate host to resume its own biological processes or it would die, and Shiv'kala would not sacrifice the keeper when the joining would be difficult to impossible without the necessary surgery. The keeper skittered up Shiv'kala's body, nesting in its old nursing spot as Timov shuddered.

Knowing that if she withheld her voluntary acquiescence to the keeper, it could never make a mental link, Shiv'kala begrudgingly made a calculated step. "You do not need a keeper anyway," Shiv'kala declared as he perceived Timov's motivations. "Our servant's life belongs to us, and if you interfere with our plans or contravene any of our commands, we will kill him as easily as we could have let him die tonight and as easily I as could shut this dungeon door and leave you to die." Shiv'kala took a step closer withdrawing a small button from his pocket, "You will wear this bug, and we will hear everything you say and do. You will not leave the palace grounds at the cost of your life and his. And if our servant's life is not enough to ensure your cooperation," he peered closer at the small woman staring back at him, "we will detonate the bombs we have placed across Centauri Prime, one-by-one. And we will target the Defense Grid across the planet, and you will see your people perish and die by fire."

* * *

At Shiv'kala's warning, understanding dawned on Timov. In an instant, she understood the prison in which her husband had been held captive for so long. She felt her own hearts beating in her chest as she realized Londo had never set the bombs, but his hands had been tied by them for over a decade. He had been held in solitary confinement, in misery and despair, since the day of his inauguration. Memories of his strange behavior since becoming emperor flashed through her mind. It all began to make sense: His locked quarters, his words to Vir calling Abraham Lincolni into service; his authorization of the renovations of the network of palaces throughout Centauri Prime even in light of the minimal amounts of ducats in the Treasury; the unmarked map given to Phylakios; the way he sternly cut her off every time she tried to confront him; his habit of sending everyone he cared for away from the palace; his diligence and concern for her while she was a captive and his utter lack of rage over her treasonous actions; his stern warning and his unwillingness to pursue questioning concerning anyone else's involvement in her plot to use Dust on him; his night terrors. All the pieces began to click into place.

Timov apprehended that Londo's patriotism and dedication to his people would never allow him to act contrary to their interest, and the bombs across Centauri Prime held him as captive as the keeper on his shoulder.

Timov did not have to fake the shock on her face when Shiv'kala mentioned the bombs planted across Centauri Prime, but the news that they also held the Defense Grid turned her stomach.

She considered, as she glanced back at Londo's gray pallor, that he had he had acted on mere hope alone, hope that someone might understand the only messages he could send, and he had no idea if any of his messages had been received.

Timov blinked away tears of understanding as Shiv'kala turned toward her once more. "I have slowed his biological functions down, but once I leave, they will return as before. He ordered the guards away before he entered your cell, and the door is unlocked." Shiv'kala disappeared into the darkness, and Timov flew at the door again, this time trying the handle and finding that it was unlocked. Throwing a shoulder into the door, she flew down the dungeon's long and winding cavern until she reached the stairs.

Seeing the royal guards' boots on the stairs above her she called out to them, and they rushed down the stairs to her side, clearly astonished to see the figure of the Empress emerging from the dungeon. "Quickly," she instructed them, sending one running for the royal physician as she led the others back to where Londo had collapsed.

As Shiv'kala had told her, Londo's breathing and heartrate had increased, leaving him in the same wretched state as before and perilously close to death.

Within minutes, the royal physician and a team of medical personnel had dashed into the cell, and the Emperor was carried away on a stretcher, bound for the nearest hospital. The royal physician waved the guards away so that Timov could enter the royal carriage, but Timov leaned into the carriage, grasping Londo's limp hand for a brief moment, and gestured that they should leave the grounds without her. She stood back, watching the royal motorcade depart as it was flanked with royal guard flyers, sirens screaming.

Timov watched the flyers departing with mixed feelings. Londo had sat by her side these last few months, ensuring her own care as she recovered from the incident in Porto, and she knew that of all the things he cared deeply about, he would never leave a friend in crisis or pain. He would be at their side, trying to cheer them. As a young man, he had returned from his school post to the side of one of his mothers, staying there for three weeks virtually without rest before she passed away. It was, Timov reflected, one of his more endearing traits. Far more endearing than his propensity to lose his temper or wind up drunk at entirely inopportune times.

She knew, however, that her new pact had placed her in a difficult position. She would be unable to return the favor, and he would be hurt that his own family did not care enough to sit by his bedside. _Even Mariel had sat by his bedside, pretending_ , Timov thought, _when she had tried to poison him. And Daggair, too, even though she had hoped for his death_. Timov sighed. It was out of her hands.

Emanio flew to the Empress's side, followed closely by Palco. "Majesty," he looked both terrified and excited. "I am so glad to see you in good health. We had not been apprised of your whereabouts, and we had been quite worried after the news of your illness."

Palco pulled Emanio back with a steady hand before bowing. "I was concerned for . . . your accommodations. In any event, we are thrilled to see you, although we wish it were under better circumstances. And we are . . ." he gulped, "praying for His Majesty's recovery."

"And I," Timov said curtly.

"Officially . . ." Emanio spread out his hands, "according to His Majesty's orders, you are to take charge as regent if he is incapacitated . . . so . . . ." He stammered.

Timov stared at him, feeling the whole weight of the situation descending upon her shoulders. She tipped her chin up, "I suppose I have a great deal to catch up on, then. I shall call a Cabinet meeting at once, and you will make arrangements so that I can address the nation about Londo's condition. Emanio," she turned to him, "you will start calling every member of the Centaurum. I don't want them surprised by the news, and I certainly don't want them finding out through the press." She thought a moment. "You will instruct them that his condition is stable, regardless of what we hear from the hospital. It will prevent chaos among the Houses."

Palco and Emanio nodded their assent before falling in at her flank. Although the Emperor's condition was foremost on their minds, the cool hand of the Empress reassured them both.

* * *

As Timov took her place at the Cabinet meeting, she recognized a few old faces. Plancho, the senior Cabinet aide had arranged her position at the head of the table, and when she entered, he announced her arrival to the room.

Timov watched as the ministers quietly welcome her back into a seat of power. It was a result, she knew, of her long years helming the meetings for Londo. Had it not been for Londo's absurd idea to have her run the meetings for him, entirely for his personal amusement, she would have faced an open revolt in the Cabinet room at the idea that a woman would serve as Regent while the Emperor was incapacitated. But contrary to the rebellion she fully expected to face in the Cabinet room, the council of ministers sedately accepted her return to the head of the table.

But her assumption of power was not seamless, for one minister voiced his objects, the young Minister of Defense, Durla.

"The Empress," he stood in front of the Cabinet, "cannot serve as Regent! Why, she conspired against His Majesty, and she was imprisoned in the dungeon for her crimes," he cried, to the shock of the other ministers. "The only reason that she sits in his place now is because he cannot speak for himself!"

The other ministers pounded on the table, ordering silence before looking back to the Empress, who responded carefully. "Minister Durla," she addressed him coldly. "Is the Emperor's word not accepted within this Republic as the law?"

"Yes, of course it is," Durla replied, grinding his teeth.

"And did Emperor Mollari name a representative if he was to become incapacitated?"

"Yes, some time ago—" Durla's voice rose.

"Has he rescinded this order?"

"No, but—"

"Then his word, as law, continues until this Emperor or the next rescinds it or, gods forbid, the Centaurum acts as a body to negate his act?" Timov asked.

"The Centaurum can—" Durla stammered, trying to get a word in edgewise.

"Has the Centaurum so acted?" Timov asked pointedly.

"No," Durla responded sourly.

"And did the Emperor make a public address about the reasons for my return to the palace?"

"He did, but—"

"Did he make any allegations of crimes against him in that address?"

"No, but—"

"And," Timov cut him off, "do your soldiers and the royal guards follow his word?"

"Of course," Durla said, frustrated.

"Then would I be among you now if it was the will of the Emperor that I be held indefinitely in the dungeon?"

"He didn't say indefinitely but—"

"Minister Durla," Timov's voice rang with authority. "It appears that you and the Emperor have something of a disagreement. Or perhaps it is a disagreement that _you_ have with the way of our laws. In any event, it is a disagreement you may take up with him, directly, when he returns to reassume his duties. I am merely," she winced inwardly as she said it, "a servant in carrying out his will."

At that, Prime Minister Palazzo rose. "It is enough, Durla!" he pointed Durla back into his seat before he turned back to the Empress. "Madam Regent," he bowed to her respectfully and the other ministers followed his lead.

* * *

After the meeting, Durla approached the Empress as she was sorting through Londo's papers in his office.

"Majesty," he stood stiffly in front of her.

"What can I do for you, Durla?" she asked coolly.

"You are not meant to be Regent," he said haltingly, barely containing his anger. "And if _I_ was Prime Minister, this mockery would _never_ have happened."

"Oh?" Timov stared at the young minister. "And do you intend to become Prime Minister soon?" she asked.

"I have friends in very high places," a little grin curled his mouth. "Or shall we say, very _dark_ places."

Timov eyes widened slightly, and she was reminded of the Cabinet meeting long ago in which Londo had seethed when he had looked at Durla, and his recent comment to her that he didn't like the company Durla kept. She held her breath as Durla turned on his heel, stomping out the room. " _Great Maker_ ," she said under her breath, sitting down in Londo's chair, "Durla is complicit with the Drakh."

"Majesty," Emanio appeared at the door of Londo's office, interrupting her thoughts. "The Princess has been located, she is waiting for you now."

Timov brushed off the revelation about Durla and nodded, flipping on the switch on Londo's console. The image of her adopted daughter appeared, and Senna's eyes were brimming with worry.

"Oh thank the gods," Senna clasped her hands. "You are all right. We were so worried these last few months . . . ."

"Of course I'm all right," Timov feigned a smile, "I have felt better and better each day, but today . . . today Londo . . . ." She felt an uncharacteristic wave of emotion roll over her. "He collapsed," she said, gathering her emotions again. "He's at the hospital for treatment of a heart attack. I've been in communication with the doctors, and it is quite serious. Although it is his smaller heart - you remember he already had his large heart replaced when he was an ambassador at Babylon 5 - the odds that his body will reject a new replacement have gone up immensely precisely because his large heart was already replaced. He is in surgery now, and they do not expect him out for some hours."

Senna's face was aghast. "I don't know what to say," she clasped her hands nervously.

"I cannot go to the hospital. In Londo's infinite wisdom," Timov's tone crackled with cynicism, "he has placed me in charge of the entire country while he is incapacitated."

"Oh," Senna's worried face lit up a little at the prospect.

"Senna, He needs his family beside him. I would like you to go and keep him company," Timov continued. "He will be distressed and disoriented when he wakes up. Assure him that everything is well, and I will see him as soon as possible."

"Of course," Senna nodded. "Vir and I will leave immediately."

"Senna—" Timov threw up a hand to get her attention. "Do not question Londo about politics. It was stress that caused his heart attack, and I fear the trouble with his memory will cause him even greater anxiety." Timov paused before she added, "I am giving an address to the country tonight – I shall have to reassure everyone that Londo is fine - and you will do the same if anyone asks you." Timov sighed, biting her lips. "It has been quite a whirlwind here at the palace today," she looked up with a sad smile. "It is good to see you again, though. I suppose I've been wanting to have a long conversation with you."

"I'm sure we will have a chance soon," Senna reassured her.

"Yes, of course," Timov replied. "On a lighter note, I was sorting through some papers today, and I ran across an old plan for a small menagerie on the grounds. I'm considering have some _baguan_ birds imported. I haven't seen many around the Capital City, but there is some space here at the palace. Do you think it would be a nice addition? I don't want one of my first acts as Regent to be ill-received."

Senna blinked, " _Baguan_ birds? At the palace?"

"Yes," Timov replied, "at the palace."

Senna flashed a smile at last. "Yes, a splendid idea. They are so delightful."

"Very good," Timov nodded. After receiving a reassurance that Senna and Vir would keep in constant contact with her over Londo's condition, Timov flipped the screen off.

* * *

Senna turned immediately to Vir who was at her elbow. "Did you hear, Vir? Something's wrong _at the palace."_

 _"_ Yes," Vir stared at the screen. "She was clearly warning us about the palace. We will have to be very careful about what we say and to whom."

"Agreed," Senna turned, her face distraught. "At least she is alive, but now-"

Vir studied the ground, "Londo," he glanced back at Senna, his eyes brimming with tears. "Whatever he's done, I never wanted to see him suffering."

"No," Senna put an arm on Vir. "Let us go, so that we can be by his side when he awakens."

Vir nodded, a knot in his throat, before following Senna to her royal motorcade.

* * *

Emanio approached the doorway to the Emperor's private office where the Empress was sitting, her arms folded, lips pursed in thought.

"They are prepared to broadcast whenever you are ready, Majesty."

Timov stood, allowing Palco to ensure that she looked proper before she made her way to the throne room. There, a crowd of courtiers parted to make way for her, and she passed them by, slowly ascending the steps to the throne as she felt the immensity of the Crown weighing upon her. Flipping the folds of her dress over the throne, she took a deep breath, beginning her address to the nation, and she took her place as the second woman in history to exercise the vast power of the Centauri Republic, although she exercised it under the guise of Regent, rather than Emperor.


	26. Nightmares and Dreams

Ja'Tok had been in port at Dinelgth IV for less than a day, trying to wring the smell of captivity from his clothes. All the aliens he had piloted off Centauri Prime had been safely transferred to outlying homeworlds and colonies. Now, he was alone, but he had felt alone since being thrown into the alien colony on Centauri Prime.

Ja'Tok prowled the dusty principal city of Dinelgth IV in search of something to drown his sorrow. His friends – his crew – all dead. His ship had been captured and probably demolished for its parts by now, and the new one he had been given to pilot aliens off of Centauri Prime was neither his nor a very capable vessel.

Ja'Tok continued his walk, staring at the small aliens that inhabited the border world. He needed to find a new crew, a better vessel, some goods, and a prospective route to start trading runs again. It was, after all, what he was best at.

As he rounded a corner, Ja'Tok's jaw dropped as he saw a Narn disappearing into a dusty alleyway.

Ja'Tok hurried after the figure, curious at the Narn slipping into the distance. Through streets and alleys, he followed the figure, weaving between buildings until, at last, he lost his target, and he stood shielding his eyes from the dust with an arm, peering this way and that, trying to figure out where the Narn went when, all of a sudden, he was struck from behind.

Ja'Tok turned with a growl and whipped a closed fist toward his attacker, following it with pummeling blows to his attacker's torso.

The attacker smartly swung a foot behind Ja'Tok, sweeping his feet out from under him, and Ja'Tok landed in the dirt.

The attacker leaned over him, "Why were you following me?"

Ja'Tak snarled, _"Re'drawg"_ and threw his fist directly at the other Narn's pouch. As the Narn doubled over in agony, Ja'Tok sprung from the ground, preparing to attack again.

The other Narn looked up. "You punched me in the pouch," he said incredulously. "It is no wonder the entire Narn Regime considers you _personna non grata_."

The Narn stepped forward, striking Ja'Tok on the chin before kneeing him in the chest and sending him sprawling again. Ja'Tok tried to shake off the nauseating head strike, and he wiped the blood from his nose. All of a sudden, he felt his whole body being lifted up, foisted into the air, and he found himself staring into the eyes – or more precisely the one good eye and the one artificial eye – of G'Kar.

"Your Holiness," Ja'Tok sputtered with shock as two visions of the famous figure of G'Kar crossed and slowly became one.

"' _Citizen'_ will be just fine. You, on the other hand," G'Kar unceremoniously dropped the Narn onto his feet, "I'm not sure if you qualify as a _citizen_ anymore."

"Apologies, Your Holiness," Ja'Tok pleaded weakly. "I followed you because I have not seen a Narn in many moons and I . . . I guess I just wanted to talk to one of my countrymen."

"Ja'Tok," G'Kar said thoughtfully eyeing the specimen in front of him, "Fortunately for you, the Kha'Ri thought you died some years ago. If they had known you were still alive, you would have a bounty on your head."

"I have been . . . travelling," Ja'Tok dusted himself off, wiping the blood running from his nose on his sleeve. He motioned to G'Kar's pouch, "I am sorry for the dishonorable strike. Let me buy you a drink in penance."

G'Kar's eyes travelled up and down Ja'Tok's appearance, but at last he said, "From one traveler to another, I will allow you to buy me a drink. Not in penance – that will be a bitter drink indeed. But I would hear of your travels - after all, a truly educated man is a man of the universe." He narrowed his eyes at Ja'Tok, "Although you may be an exception - I have not quite decided yet."

Over the next hour, Ja'Tok woefully explained his arrest by the Centauri after running the trade blockades, his escape from holding, the deaths of his mercenaries, the elderly Centauri who helped him, and his eventual life on the property of the Royal Adjutant.

"Is Vir Cotto not the Royal Adjutant?" G'Kar leaned forward as he questioned the Narn trader.

Ja'Tok nodded, "Yes, it was his position that shielded us from the prying eyes of the Defense Forces and the alien laws."

G'Kar sat back, thinking as he listened to Ja'Tok's story, offering little in reply.

"They have asked me to go back to extract more aliens from Centauri Prime," Ja'Tok snorted, "but it was enough to get away. I was imprisoned there – those telepaths treated me like a wild animal, and the worst was the caverns."

G'Kar slowly looked up. "Did you say caverns?" He looked at Ja'Tok with a strange expression on his face.

Ja'Tok took a swig of the Dinelgth whiskey in front of him. "The safest place for the children to play was in the caverns on the edge of the Royal Adjutant's property where they were shielded from the Defense Force satellites. But I couldn't shake the feeling whenever I would go near them. It was . . . chilling. And I _know_ it wasn't just me – the telepaths refused to go near the caverns as well."

G'Kar leaned forward to ask another question, but their conversation was halted by an ISN newsflash on a monitor mounted near them.

* * *

The newscaster interrupted another story concerning Burkesh XII as a breaking newsflash ran across the bottom of the screen. "I'm getting a report in now . . ." the newscaster listened hard. "The Centauri government has confirmed that Emperor Mollari II is being treated in a hospital in the Capital City for a heart attack. We do not have confirmation from the medical facility itself, but the palace has issued a press release that states that the Emperor is in stable condition. The announcement comes as his principal consort, Empress Timov of Algul, takes the throne as Regent during his absence, a remarkable turn of events for the Centauri Republic. Although it is temporary, it is only the second time in history in which a woman had led the government. We will bring you more on this developing story as it happens."

* * *

Vir turned off the ISN newscast and returned to Senna's side at the hospital. They were waiting anxiously, nervously glancing at the medical staff hurrying by. The staff mumbled salutations and dipped their heads in acknowledgment of their respective positions, but the medical staff did not break their stride as they hurried on.

Senna turned to Vir, "It must be very bad since they will tell us nothing."

Vir watched the medical staff before putting a comforting arm around Senna. "They are just busy," he said, trying to reassure himself as well as he wiped the sweaty palm of his free hand on his tunic.

At last, a distinguished looking doctor flanked by the Royal Physician approached them. "Your Highness," the doctor bowed to Senna and turned to Vir, "Your Excellency." He motioned them toward a secluded interior room, and the guards stood watch outside.

The doctor smiled reassuringly before he addressed them, "I am pleased to inform you that outside of a few obstacles, the surgery has progressed relatively well. His Majesty had his large heart replaced some years ago. The trouble he experienced today stemmed from his other, smaller heart, so we have replaced it with another artificial one. It is a XKS3000, the finest artificial model on the market, and it is insured for 250 years, so I don't think he'll be experiencing further problems with it once his body has accepted it."

The doctor gestured toward another wing of the hospital, "We are going to transfer His Majesty to a private recovery suite shortly. It will be some hours before he awakens, but you may visit him there. It will be important to minimize his stress to ensure his body can adapt to the new heart. However, I must warn you," the doctor gripped his hands together tightly, "that the recovery poses some challenges, and it will not be a quick or easy road, although I am sure the Emperor is up to the task. But," he smiled reassuringly, "it is best to take this one step at a time."

"I'd like to know," Senna put a hand out to stop the doctor from leaving, "what he is facing."

The doctor looked uncomfortable before he continued. "His Majesty's body needs time to adapt to the new heart to ensure it is not rejected. In many cases, we have found that a body may reject a second replacement heart unless the patient properly recuperates."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Vir asked.

The doctor glanced at the royal physician before responding. "His Majesty will require _absolute rest_ to ensure he successfully recovers. His stress must be minimized until his body accepts and adapts to the new heart."

Vir's eyes had widened. "I don't know if you've met Londo," he mumbled, "but rest and solitude aren't exactly his thing."

The doctor looked down at the floor. "I realize it is a difficult thing given his position, but I can assure you that it is his best chance of . . . what I mean to say is, his body is already weakened, this is his second significant heart attack, and it is critical that His Majesty's body be given every opportunity to accept the new heart without additional . . . complications."

Senna stared at the doctor silently.

"He hardly took any time off after his last heart attack," Vir said pensively. "I don't know how we will convince him now that he is emperor."

"One thing at a time," Senna laid a hand on Vir's knee, "The most important thing is that the surgery is going well. It is clear that the gods are looking after him."

The doctor smiled although it did not reach his eyes. "We will keep you informed, Your Highness, Your Excellency." The doctors bowed and departed.

* * *

"President Toscaneli!" Minister Durla threw open his arms to greet the Centaurum President. "I have many things to discuss with you," he sat down with a flourish, crossing his legs and throwing his arms wide over the back of the lavish couch decorating the Centaurum President's office.

The venerable President pursed his lips in annoyance at the unannounced intrusion. "One would think the Minister of Defense would be rather busy these days, what with the Emperor having fallen ill and the Empress needing councilors at her side to guide her through this time of trial."

"A time of trial, indeed," Durla leaned forward. "Imagine, President Toscaneli, what would happen if our dear Emperor did not survive this episode . . . ."

The elder Toscaneli narrowed his eyes at the Defense Minister. "The palace has been in communication with me directly. The Emperor is doing quite well, I understand," Toscaneli said, irked.

"Of course, that is what the palace _wants_ you to hear. I, on the other hand," Durla peered at his fingernails, "know there is _more_ to the story."

"What do you mean, _more_?"

"I have been faithfully by Emperor Mollari's side for years as one of his most _loyal_ servants," Durla replied with a smirk. "First as one of his guards, then his Captain of the Guards, now as one of his _closest_ ministers and advisors. And although the Emperor is notorious for putting on a good show, his health has been deteriorating these past few years. Surely you have heard the rumors?"

Seeing Toscaneli bob his head slightly, Durla continued, "It is far less likely that His Majesty will survive this episode than the palace would have you believe. And if he doesn't . . . survive I mean . . . the moment his hearts cease, as Prime Minister, Palazzo will be the likely successor since Mollari has no heirs."

"Perhaps that is so," Toscaneli growled. "What of it?"

"Well," Durla tugged his embellished coat into place, "Palazzo has never shown the Centaurum the respect it has deserved, nor you, President Toscaneli. He has always been a bit headstrong since he became Minister of Agriculture and _even worse_ since he worked his way up to Prime Minister. I would offer an alliance . . . if the opportunity arises. A chance to ensure the direction of our country continues onward . . . and upward."

Toscaneli pondered Durla's words in silence while tapping on his desk with a finger.

"And what," Toscaneli asked, "do you have in mind?"

* * *

Senna listened to the slow and methodical sound of her adoptive father's breathing in the darkened recovery suite. He looked grey, she thought, and not at all well. She was holding onto his hand, trying to block out the sight of all the tubes, wires, and machines surrounding him. She had been praying, each hour honoring another god, that he would live. But today, she wasn't sure if the gods were feeling merciful, for she felt no cocoon of warmth when she prayed, the fingers of the wind didn't twine her hair in reassurance when she walked outside to catch a breath of fresh air, and there was no signs that the gods were listening – just emptiness, as she had felt when her biological father had been killed, slaughtered by a group of Narn.

Senna glanced around the room – here there were no titles, there was no power against the finality of death, no courtesans or slaves or servants to bear life's burdens, just the inevitability of the frailty of life. She considered that titles and power held little sway when the body could no longer sustain life, and she returned her prayers to the god of health even as she rubbed her tired eyes with one hand and stroked Londo's sleeve with another.

Vir would be returning soon as he had stepped out to converse with the doctors again, but at last sleep overwhelmed her, and she lay her head upon her arms, resting against Londo's bedside, her hand still upon his sleeve.

* * *

A nobleman took his place next to Mollari, crossing his legs and waiting for a servant to deposit a drink in his hand. When one appeared, the nobleman smiled faintly. "Did you expect to see me again?" he asked, the lilting notes of his northern accent warming his words.

Londo stood up, clasping his hands behind him as he turned to face the nobleman. "Not really," he said, a bitter inflection in his tone.

"Ironic, is it not, Mollari, that my daughter awaits at your bedside for you to awaken?"

Londo sighed heavily. "These dreams I have when I am dying – they really are quite trying." He turned back to the nobleman. "Do you disapprove, then, Antono, of my adoption of your daughter?"

"On the contrary," Lord Refa swirled his glass of brivari, "She turned my rival into a doting admirer. She is under the protection of the Crown. She convinced you to reinstate House Refa. It is a far cry from what _I_ might have done as emperor but," he shrugged philosophically, "she has done well for herself and for her house – her _true_ house."

"No thanks to you," Londo waved a hand. "She came to me with suicide and murder on her mind."

"A true Refa noblewoman from birth," Refa smiled. "I can only hope she will regain her senses and sabotage your remaining health before you awaken from this dream."

Londo stared at Refa with cold eyes. "You are just as depraved in death as you were in life," he growled. "I thank the Great Maker that she has some moral sense – you always lacked a moral compass."

"You are one to talk," Refa chuckled. "But Senna is getting along in years now, is she not, Mollari? Who is she to marry? You would not stand in the way of my genetic line continuing to contribute to the greatness of our people, would you?"

"I understand her choice is to be Vir Cotto," Londo finally sat down again in a comfortable chair next to Refa. "I have no objections to him – he is a fine man. You know, Lady Morella once told me that _he_ would be Emperor."

Refa laughed, "And how many of Lady Morella's prophecies came true, eh Mollari?" He leaned ominously in his chair. "Not enough to merit the mixing of the inferior blood of the Cottos with the refined blood of the Refas. It is your _duty_ to ensure her a good match. You will do me the favor of ensuring she does _not_ marry that unceremonious oaf."

"I will not do _you_ any favors," Londo replied darkly.

Refa shrugged, sipping on his drink philosophically. "I suppose it does not matter that much. A Refa's blood will always be dominant, and I have no doubt my future grandsons will return House Refa to its rightful place – perhaps as emperors, themselves."

"Senna lacks nothing," Londo shook a finger in Refa's face. "It was _you_ who lacked a conscience. Now, would you kindly leave my dream?"

"Ohhhhhh," Refa laughed, "would you like me to return you to your _other_ nightmare?"

Londo narrowed his eyes, something gnawing at the back of his mind. "What other nightmare?" he asked.

Refa held up a finger to his lips. "I would _never_ tell, Mollari. That is for _you_ to remember."

* * *

Senna dreamed of the Emperor laying in a hospital room, eerily similar to reality. She could tell everything was different – not _that_ different – but different enough, and she watched as the Empress entered the room, oblivious to Senna's presence, as she turned her attention toward the attending doctor.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said quietly, bowing, the rest of his words disappearing as they came out of his mouth, clearly indicating the Emperor had died. "Would you like us to . . ." he gestured at the life support machine regulating the Emperor's pulse and breathing. "It would preserve his dignity . . . ."

The Empress walked forward slowly, floating through the dream as she approached the doctor, "No man dictates the hour and time of an Emperor's death," she said, the dignified weight of her words hanging in the air, "That is between him and the gods. Not you."

* * *

With a start, Senna's eyes snapped open, her hearts racing, and as she looked up, she saw the Emperor gazing at her. "Senna," he whispered, each word a struggle, "you are having a bad dream."

Senna flew out of her chair with tears in her eyes, leaning over his bed to wrap him in a hug before she realized she was entangled in the tubes and wires draping his bed. "Oh, the worst dream, but it is over now," she said, disentangling herself slowly before she felt his hand upon her sleeve.

"I, too, have been having a nightmare," Londo said, each word appearing to take all of his strength. "Is Timov dead?" his eyes begged her for an answer, but his chest rose faster and faster, and Senna heard a shrill buzz go off.

A bevy of medical personnel swarmed the room, but Londo did not let go of Senna's sleeve, nor did his eyes leave her.

"It is imperative . . ." the attending physician tried to interrupt, but Senna ignored him and covered Londo's hand with her own.

"She is _fine_. I talked to her a little while ago, and she asked me to tell you that she is at the palace now, awaiting your return. She said," Senna smiled softly, "that if you hadn't played your little joke leaving her in charge, she would be here in person."

Londo's head slumped back into the pillow, blinking away tears. "I thought that – that something terrible had happened to her." He relaxed for a moment before confusion crossed his face. "What do you mean – left her in charge?"

Senna leaned in, "You left her in charge if you were incapacitated. She is acting as Regent until you return."

Londo stared at Senna in disbelief, but the small effort had taken everything from him, and his eyes slowly sagged shut again.

"He's stabilized," the physician announced at the buzzing ended, turning to Senna. "Please," he said, "remember what I said about his stress levels."

"Of course," Senna mumbled, wondering when Vir would return, knowing that he would be desperately unhappy to have missed Londo's awakening.

* * *

The Empress had spent the day in meetings, checking periodically to find out if there were any updates from the hospital, but none were forthcoming.

At day's end, she found herself yearning for a moment alone, and she returned to her old bedroom which still unlocked at her touch.

The palace servants had clearly been changing her linens, tidying up the room, and replacing the flowers at her bedside, likely since the day she had left. As she gazed at the neatly tucked bed, the scent of crisp linens wafted from the bed, and she wondered if Londo had ordered the servants to continue servicing her room in her absence. " _Doubtful_ ," she thought. Emperors often gave orders that continued to be carried out unless they rescinded them, and Londo was a romantic, but he wasn't a lunatic. Clearly, he must have forgotten to rescind the order.

She sat down in an overstuffed chair near one of the windows, and she thought over the day's events. The thought of the Drakh inhabiting the palace turned her stomach, and now she wondered what it had been like for Londo these many years to live with such a dark secret, forced to comply with their whims.

She put a troubled hand to her temple as her mind turned to Durla's comments. He was overly ambitious, like the worst Centauri noblemen, clawing their way to the top – but Durla had always struck her as rational – until she had perceived that he was in collusion with the Drakh.

Timov knew that she was caught between a rock and a hard place. She would have to choose sides, and neither side - Prime Minister Palazzo's side or Durla's side - was particularly palatable. Palazzo had been the xenophobic mastermind behind the most egregious and atrocious policies of Londo's reign, but she had only one viable option, and that was to use the Palazzo to her advantage against Durla's influence. Considering Durla's comments earlier in the day, she would need to consolidate power, and quickly - for he would surely try to consolidate power against her just as fast.

Timov drummed her fingers in frustration as she realized she would have to support Palazzo to quash Durla's power. It was a terrible position, one that she loathed, and she wondered how Londo had suppressed his own feelings on the matter. But of course, he hadn't – she knew that instinctively. Londo was incapable of utterly suppressing his feelings on anything. They came out – one way or another. _Perhaps_ , she thought, _that was what happened when he disappeared into his residence for days on end, emerging wearily and ill-tempered_. _Yes_ , she thought, she could certainly guess the rest. She glanced momentarily at the door between their chambers, perceiving the true story behind Londo's night terrors.

Timov stood, intending to return to Londo's office to find out if there had been any further news on his condition, but Emanio almost ran into her as she emerged.

"Majesty," he dipped his head quickly, thrusting a note into her hands, his hands shaking, "I regret to inform you that Prime Minister Palazzo has been found with a knife in his back."


	27. Rash Decisions

G'Kar laid in his bed in the peace and stillness of the night, but he abruptly turned to one side and then another. He had been rolling around, unable to sleep, for the better part of five hours. Finally, he whipped the sheets back as he sat up with a growl. A number of things were bothering him – and they all had to do with the Centauri.

Since his discussion with Ja'Tok, G'Kar couldn't shake thoughts of the last time he had left Centauri Prime. President Sheridan had found Shadow technology used to pilot Centauri vessels used in the raids that had set off a string of events, resulting in IA members firing on Centauri Prime, but Mollari had nonchalantly dismissed the shadow technology as relics bought off the black market.

And when he was able to fall asleep for a few precious minutes, G'Kar's unconscience mind kept replaying that damned dream of Mollari's in which G'Kar saw himself with his hands wrapped around the Emperor's neck. As he recalled the tense dream he had ripped from Mollari's mind with Dust so many years before, he could sense his own throat being squeezed viciously closed. The vividness of it had never left G'Kar, nor the Centauri Emperor's ironclad belief that it would end his life.

"Ridiculous," G'Kar huffed as he threw his feet onto the floor and secured his robe. For all he knew, Mollari had died of his heart attack overnight. _That would certainly prove Mollari's vision wrong_ , he thought before the frown on his face deepened further.

G'Kar reached for the monitor's switch, hesitating before he flipped it on. His hand hovered there as he considered the events that had happened since he had last seen the Centauri Emperor. They hadn't spoken in person since the day they had parted on Centauri Prime so many years earlier. There had been occasions before the bombing of Babylon 5 when Centauri diplomats had passed along the Emperor's greetings to G'Kar, although G'Kar never knew if the Emperor had personally sent his regards or if it was merely Centauri etiquette.

G'Kar had sent half a dozen messages on diplomatic-related topics to the Emperor, but his messages had been re-routed from the palace to the ministries. "Protocol," an elder Centauri had told him without any further discussion. Inevitably, he had later received curt responses from the ministries, but the palace had always remained silent. And then, after Babylon 5 had been bombed, diplomatic ties had been severed, and the Centauri forced out of IA space. And that had been that.

Of course, in the intervening years, G'Kar had been busy himself. He had spent time at home working on matters of his soul and his country, but his fanatic followers had periodically chased him away again. He had travelled the stars, delighting in the wonders of his universe. He travelled at every opportunity, first with Lyta, later with Franklin, sporadically with the Rangers, and sometimes alone.

The solitude gave him the time to write, but he wrote less these days. Now, he was more careful with his pen then he had been when he had written his first book. Some of the things he had said he regretted, for he had seen his followers take everything he said out of context. Now, the measured words dripped slowly from his pen, but he diligently worked to correct the faults he had made in his first book.

G'Kar's hand dropped from the monitor's switch to his side as he considered that he would like to have a drink with the Centauri Emperor once more. There had been times he had thought he had stumbled upon the former ambassador in a bar or a gambling establishment, but it had always been someone else.

Expecting the worst, G'Kar quickly snapped the monitor on, turning it to ISN coverage. He stood there in the dark, watching the news for a half hour. _Nothing_. The humans always said, "No news is good news." _Perhaps_ , he thought, _there was yet time._

G'Kar turned off the news. Although it was the middle of the night on Dinelgth IV, it was midday in Tuzanor on Minbar, so he waited patiently until the image of a Minbari appeared on his screen. It was the fourth time he had tried to make contact since he had spoken with Ja'Tok.

" _Sim'wa_ , Your Holiness," a Minbari acolyte greeted him with a bow. "I'm sorry," the acolyte added with a sad shake of the head. "The President and Entil'Zha Delenn are still away on their retreat."

"And when will do you expect them to return?" G'Kar asked.

The Minbari shook his head. "I cannot say, Your Holiness. They have taken their son, David, to celebrate his 16th birthday on a private holiday. It may be some days, I'm afraid."

G'Kar shoved his chair back with a deep sigh. "This is _important._ "

"Would you like to speak to—"

"No," G'Kar said impatiently.

The Minbari tented his thumbs patiently. "I would be glad to deliver a message on your behalf."

"No," G'Kar grumbled. "No message."

The Minbari bowed his head and the connection switched off.

G'Kar paced the room before turning back to the monitor as he rubbed his forehead. "Replay last message from Advisor G'Tsak," he said grimly, recalling the message sent a few weeks before.

The image of G'Tsak, a distinguished Narn warrior and advisor to the Kha'Ri, appeared on the screen. "G'Kar," he said animatedly pounding on his armor, "this is the _third_ time the Centauri warmongers have annexed a world on the edge of our space! They have been doing this for years, now, picking off little colony worlds one-by-one. It is clear to anyone with _two eyes_ that they are targeting colony worlds that don't have their own militaries, and even though the rest of the IA won't act, by G'Quan, the Narn Regime will!"

G'Kar pursed his lips at the mention of two eyes, knowing G'Tsak was using the insult as a proxy for his anger with him. They had met as young followers of G'Quan, although G'Kar still questioned whether G'Tsak had actually read G'Quan's readings closely.

"I don't care if this is a relatively unimportant outpost," the recording of G'Tsak continued, "I don't know what you are doing, raising hell with the rest of the Kha'Ri and dragging your heels – you're as bad as the rest of those idiots in the IA who can't see the Centauri for what they really are – for what they've always done. Are _two_ occupations not enough for you? If you ask me, it is time we finish what we started a few years ago and I mean _finish_. With the Centauri gone, most of our headaches will be gone as well. Without even trying, I can find enough warriors to put together a fleet to inflict a generous amount of fatalities. And they will think twice about coming anywhere near our space again."

G'Kar judiciously took note of G'Tsak's words. G'Tsak was a well-respected warrior, and although he tended to blow everything out of proportion, he never made idle threats. The Centauri had been slowly creeping back into Narn space, and although the recording was made several weeks before, G'Kar had heard that G'Tsak had starting recruiting followers for just that purpose.

"Pause playback," G'Kar commanded, and G'Tsak's voice abruptly stopped.

G'Kar knew all too well that there were many Narn who wished to wash the Centauri from the sky, and the Centauri's actions were doing nothing to make the situation better. G'Tsak wasn't alone, and the more support he found within the Kha'Ri, the sooner the Narn would move against the Centauri.

Through its membership in the IA, the Narn Regime had improved its strategic capabilities. The Narn Regime was a rising power, and with new technology provided by the Minbari, the Narn could now inflict far more deadly strikes on the Centauri then in the past. The result, G'Kar shook his head, was likely to cause more death than any of the previous wars between the two nations, and the hard feelings of the past combined with more evenly matched technology meant a long, drawn out war that might finally destroy one empire or the other – or perhaps both. _But that_ , G'Kar thought, _paled in comparison to the other alternative_.

G'Kar's troubled thoughts returned to the caverns of Centauri Prime. If the Drakh were secretly allied with the Centauri, a Narn attack could have disastrous repercussions for the Narn Regime and the entire extended Interstellar Alliance.

G'Kar paced his hotel room, considering that there was only one way to find out, and it would not be safe or easy.

He _had_ to know if the Drakh were being shielded by the Centauri, and if so – _why_? There was only one man who could answer that question to G'Kar's satisfaction, and he was in a hospital on Centauri Prime.

G'Kar cast his thoughts back to when he first met Londo Mollari. The man he had first met had been filled with hate and the desire for blood vengeance, but G'Kar had slowly watched that man die and another one take his place. The great turning point, G'Kar thought, had been after the Centauri Ambassador had his first heart attack when Mollari had finally apologized for his behavior.

G'Kar sat down. Perhaps, then, this heart attack was an opportunity to remind Mollari of his mortality – his legacy. Perhaps there was yet time to ensure the old Mollari had not returned and perhaps they could talk as reasonable men, rather than leaders of their respective races.

G'Kar packed his things, and he made his way to the local black market, draining his account of a substantial sum in exchange for a changling net that he threw in a bag slung over his shoulder.

His business concluded, G'Kar contacted Ja'Tok. "You'll have a passenger returning with you to Centauri Prime," he told the other Narn grimly.

"Who?" Ja'Tok asked suspiciously.

G'Kar merely spread his arms widely and inclined his head.

* * *

The Royal Physician reported to the palace, his face paler than usual. Making his way to the throne room, he informed the Empress of her husband's condition and reiterated the imperativeness of keeping Londo from the effects of stress while he recovered.

"To keep him from stress will not be an easy thing," Timov said. She rested her chin against her clasped hands. "He cannot come back to the palace, that is clear. If he returns . . . ." She bit her lip, thinking of the looming reason why he should not return – the Drakh would reinstall the keeper as soon as he was within the palace walls.

"It would be best if His Majesty took a leave of his duties to recover," the Royal Physician agreed.

"Where can he go?" Timov asked. "Everywhere he is at the beck and call of the country. Even if I can convince him to go south to the Sea Palace or north to the Great House, the most difficult part will be convincing him that the government can function without him, especially considering the state of his Prime Minister."

The Royal Physician stared at his shoes. The Palace had kept the news about the Prime Minister from getting out, but it would leak sooner or later, and the Emperor was not one to take his Prime Minister's murder lying down. "We have not allowed any news to reach His Majesty," the Royal Physician smiled weakly.

"No," Timov agreed. "It isn't a good time to deliver the news that someone is staging a coup while he is recovering."

Nodding, the Royal Physician broke in on her thoughts over the Prime Minister. "We can arrange his transportation and recovery suite wherever he would be most comfortable, but it would better to discharge him as soon as possible from the hospital. The Royal Guards have indicated that the hospital is not as secure as other locations."

"Did you say _discharge_ him?" Timov questioned the Royal Physician closely.

"Depending on where he would be most comfortable—"

"Tell me, Doctor," Timov looked irritated, "has Londo been bellowing at the top of his lungs?"

"No—" the Royal Physician replied, "although he has been rather insistent on speaking with _you_ – and, as you can imagine, it is difficult to inform His Majesty that you are not immediately available."

"Has he asked for his brivari?" Timov continued.

"No," the Royal Physician chuckled at the question.

"Has he," Timov continued pointedly, "been attempting to seduce the medical staff?"

The Royal Physician's chuckle faded, "No, Your Majesty."

"Or talking anyone's ear off? Or wandering the halls of the hospital to accost the other patients? . . . Or even sitting up?"

"No, Your Majesty," the Royal Physician sensed the dangerous territory he had entered.

"Then," Timov said exasperatedly, "why are we talking about his discharge from the hospital?"

The Royal Physician shifted his weight nervously to his other foot. "I merely meant . . . in preparation for when he _is_ feeling better – and . . . His Majesty seems quite keen on leaving . . . ."

Timov glared at the Royal Physician. "I am not a doctor, and even I can tell without speaking to him that he is in no condition to leave the hospital, and I would ask you, _Doctor_ ," she said tersely, "to pay less attention to Londo's medicated commands and more attention to his actual health as _your patient_. He may be the Emperor, but he is also an unwell man, and you aren't doing him any favors by obliging his ill-conceived demands. And it makes me wonder," she peered closer at the Royal Physician, "whose payroll you are acting on?"

"His. Yours. Both - but not anyone _else_ , Your Majesty. I am sure that you can appreciate that as a humble servant of the Crown, it is difficult to refuse the orders of the Emperor," the Royal Physician tensed. "He is most emphatic when he wishes something done, and _technically_ , it would be treasonous to refuse him."

Timov's eyes blazed. "He is in the hospital because he cannot act for himself. He, himself, has commanded that I take over for him when he is incapable of acting. And he, himself, will retake his power when he is able. Until then, you will be contradicting his express will that I act in his place if you refuse my orders, do you understand? And I am ordering you to ignore all of his commands until he is medically stable."

The Royal Physician nodded quickly, "I will do what I can."

Timov rolled her eyes with a sigh.

"Speaking of the subject of His Majesty's health, Your Majesty, there is something else," the Royal Physician added nervously.

"What is it?" Timov asked.

The Royal Physician fumbled for a moment before she lost her patience. "Out with it," Timov instructed him impatiently.

"While His Majesty was in surgery, we detected . . . something else."

Timov's could feel her face tense. "Yes?" she asked quietly, fearing what he would say next.

"His Majesty doesn't have a record of any surgical implants, but we detected some sort of neurological implants at the base of his brain stem, placed through an oral surgery some time ago.** Would you have any idea . . . ?"

"No," Timov said tersely, "it probably happened on Babylon 5. Who knows what medicine the humans practiced on him."

"I see . . ." the Royal Physician squeezed his fists nervously. "It is just strange because they are clearly connected to his neural pathways, and we've detected that His Majesty has a serious and undiagnosed neurodegenerative disorder."

Timov froze, "What does that mean?"

"The rate of deterioration in his neural pathways is . . . staggering. There is ongoing damage to his brain and neural pathways. The areas affected would cause decreased cognitive function, memory loss, possibly paranoia." The physician paused. "To put it in layman's terms - it is as if his nerves have been supercharged . . . overused until they began to disintegrate. Even if he recovers successfully from the heart replacement, I fear that at this rate of degeneration, His Majesty's life span will be . . . greatly abbreviated."

 _"_ _Caused by the Drakh's parasite, no doubt_ ," she thought as a shock ran through her chest. "What if," she asked, "further damage stopped? The degeneration was eliminated?"

The physician stared at his boots for a moment. "I wish that that were possible. It would certainly help his present predicament, but permanent damage has been already been done – and not just to his neural pathways. Perhaps you have noticed His Majesty coughing up blood?"

"Yes," another chill ran through her, "for some time now."

"I believe it is somehow related, but I've never seen anything like this disease, and we wouldn't even know how to treat his present symptoms. If he were . . . anyone else, we would keep him under observation, perform research . . . but because it is the Emperor . . ." he offered his palms up.

"You said that his lifespan might be . . . abbreviated. How much time does he have?" Timov asked.

The Royal Physician looked defeated, "I can't say. As I've said – we've never seen anything like it."

"Your best guess," Timov said tensely.

"Depending on when it started . . . ."

"To estimate," Timov felt nauseous," "let us say it began when he became emperor."

The Royal Physician thought a moment. "Perhaps two years," he said quietly. "Maybe more . . . maybe less."

Timov quelled the uneasiness in her stomach. "Have you told him?"

"No," the physician shook his head. "He is not well enough yet to receive such news, I fear."

Timov closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. "You will not tell him," she instructed the physician.

"But he is the . . . ."

"Never mind that," Timov cut him off. "It will do him no good, and he has struggled with the isolation of his position since coming to the throne. Telling him will further throw him down the barrel of depression. You will leave it to me."

The Empress's expression left no room for argument. The Royal Physician bowed his acquiescence and retreated from the throne room.

Left alone, Timov wondered if the weight of her position under the circumstances would crush her, but she admonished herself briskly. Londo had dealt with this for 16 years, and she could bear it for a few days. She sat down in the throne, chilled by the Royal Physician's words. Of course, she had witnessed Londo's increasing memory problems, but the Drakh had also blocked significant portions of his memories while he was in the hospital, and the two problems would render Londo with even more significant memory problems until he returned to the palace.

Outside the palace, Londo would be robbed of his wits and his intelligence, and inside it, he would have to step back into a noose that would slowly strangle him.

She stared at the Drakh's bug that she now wore. " _You_ ," she spoke to it, "have done this to him. It wasn't enough to imprison him, bowing him to your will, you were squeezing his life from him as well."

There was no reply, only silence in the throne room.

* * *

When he next awakened, Timov called Londo from the privacy of his inner office, speaking with him via a secure connection. She could tell he didn't feel well, simply by the pallor of his face. She could see his energy had been siphoned away, leaving the shell of a man who usually vibrated with vigor and shook the foundations of the palace with his voice. Now, every word seemed an effort, and his voice was quiet, and his breathing was strained and shallow.

"Timov," he said slowly, "I eh . . . I am feeling much better. I should be back at the palace soon."

Timov sharply breathed in at his demeanor. "I have just spoken with the Royal Physician, and we have all agreed that you need rest, Londo."

Londo's brow furrowed. "I _have_ rested. I do not wish to be imprisoned in this hospital."

Timov didn't want to fight with him, but she knew his life was at risk if he had to face the reality of the Drakh again before he was ready. "Why don't you take a few weeks off?" she asked. "You've hardly taken any breaks – and certainly no real vacations – since you became Emperor. Go to the coast and rest."

"I would consider it," Londo said with a frown, "if you come with me."

Timov blinked in surprise at his request. "Of course, I would come, but I'm afraid you . . . you left me in charge. Your little joke has turned on you."

Londo grunted in acknowledgment. "They are going to call me," he struggled for his breath, "a _reformer._ " He spat the last word out distastefully.

Timov smiled at his reaction. "No one would dare call you a reformer, Londo. Everyone knows better than that."

He gestured toward the hospital, "I've already heard them whispering it – Emperor Mollari II: the Reformer. _You know_ ," he said with great seriousness, "I was buying myself insurance – I thought it was much better than naming a pet _thrasio_ as my incapacitated representative, and I didn't want anyone I named to poison me into a coma so that they could seize power."

"I suppose you have outwitted yourself," Timov observed lightly.

Londo's frown deepened as he studied her face. "You haven't even come to see me," Londo complained, looking tired and upset.

"I'm sorry, I would come if I could." Timov replied, her face fading into seriousness again. "Of course, I would come to your side, but I know how important the Republic is to you, so I thought that you would prefer that I did not abandon it and that I ensure it was being cared for in your absence." Timov was beginning to learn what it must have been like for Londo to hold his secret those many years, and the pain and stress of constant lies. In that moment, she realized that besides their safety, it was probably easier for Londo to send his friends and family away than to be saddled with lies at every turn.

With some hesitation, Londo gave a nod of his approval.

"Besides," Timov tried to soothe him, "that is why I sent Senna and Vir to you. They would have come anyway, of course, but I wanted to be sure someone was there for you when you awoke. Someone to keep you company."

Londo rested a moment before he had the strength to reply. "I have enjoyed their company, but I don't want to stay here – I want to come _home_."

Timov's hearts broke at his plea, but there was nothing she could do. "Do you trust me, Londo?"

Londo gazed at his wife for a long time before he replied, "I cannot afford to trust anyone."

"That isn't what I asked," Timov replied softly.

Londo continued to gaze at her until he acknowledged her question with another small, grudging nod.

"Then do not come back to the palace. Go and rest. Take a holiday. Travel to the coast or to the Great House, and take a break from all of this for a while." Timov steadied a hand on his desk, fearing his response. " _Please_ ," she added uncharacteristically.

Londo stared at her for a moment before responding. "I am the Emperor. The Republic needs me," he replied.

Timov smiled, "Of course it needs you. And that is why you should rest – if you do not, the country will not have you for long."

Londo grunted, "You are going soft," he told her as he watched her intently. "And what about you?"

"I will take care of your Republic for you until you are better," Timov replied.

Londo sighed, "You are making this very difficult for me."

Timov shrugged, "I thought you said I was going soft."

At her response, Londo glared. But after a few moments, he contemplated her words. "Perhaps I will take some time, as you say. But first I will come and see you at the palace, and you will catch me up to date on all of the affairs of the Republic."

"No, Londo," Timov replied tersely, her tone turning authoritative.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Londo's face turned darker as his voice rose with frustration.

"The doctors were very clear," Timov said. "You need rest. Some time away from the palace. Away from all of this. Everything is under control." _Everything but the Prime Minister_ , she thought to herself.

Londo frowned at Timov's insistence that he stay out of politics. "Then I will come and see _you_ ," he protested with irritation, leaning forward in his hospital bed.

Timov could see her attempts were of no use, so she immediately switched tactics. Londo was obstinate, and opposing him directly would simply make him dig in his heels even further. Normally, this was a satisfying challenge for her, but today, she needed his acquiescence in the matter. "Of course," she smiled thinly. "There's nothing I would like more that to see you in person. But only when the _doctors_ say it is safe for you to be discharged. You can barely hold a conversation yet, and you are in no condition to leave, even to travel the short distance from the hospital to the palace."

Londo appeared to contemplate his ability to win an argument with his wife in his current state, and at last, he nodded before he added, "I had a – a – a dream that something had happened to you," his frown deepened.

"Your night terrors," Timov cut him off as she saw him struggling to remember the circumstances. "That is all it was, a bad dream. You can see that I am fine. Now, please, husband, you have much to rest from. I will check in on you later."

Londo acquiesced as his lids drooped with fatigue.

As soon as their conversation was finished, Timov had the palace contact Senna and Vir, and she gave them pointed instructions about exactly how to deal with Londo when he wanted to extract himself from the hospital and inevitably insisted upon returning to the palace. There would be no stopping him, that was clear enough. He was so intractable, he would probably stubbornly walk to the palace if anyone refused his demands, and the last thing she needed was an excitable emperor high on narcotics wandering the streets of the Capitol City. _"That would certainly make the nightly news_ ," she thought apprehensively.

When her conversation with Vir and Senna ended, Timov leaned back in her husband's chair, exhausted by the events of the past few days, concerned for the future of the country, and worried that Londo was hellbent on returning to the one place he should not go.

* * *

**Movements of Fire and Shadow, Season 5, episode 17.


	28. Whispers

"Your Majesty," the thin figure of President Toscaneli entered the throne room. "I am sure you know why I am here," he said with gravitas.

"The small matter of the Prime Minister having fallen onto a dagger backwards, I suppose," Timov replied dryly.

"Yes," Toscaneli bowed his head, a stern expression upon his face. "The Prime Minister."

"I have opened an investigation—"

"Not that, Majesty," Toscaneli smiled coldly. "I am sure the investigation will find the guilty culprit."

 _Hardly,_ thought Timov. _Durla hired someone else to do his dirty work._

Toscaneli continued, "You have ascended to Regent while His Majesty recuperates, so having a Prime Minister is of the _utmost_ importance."

"I am sure I can manage," Timov said with weariness.

"No one questions that you _can_ ," Toscaneli continued, "but rather, whether you _should_."

"And what do you suggest?" Timov asked.

"The Centuarum is of one mind, Madam Regent. We humbly council that you appoint a Prime Minister as quickly as possible.

"Oh? I suppose you have someone in mind?"

"Well," Toscaneli threw up his hands as he shrugged. "There is only one candidate, really."

"And who would that be?" Timov asked circumspectly.

"It is well established tradition that the Minister of Defense is aptly suited for the position."

Timov pushed herself further into the seat of the throne, allowing her backbone to rest on the hard marble spine of the chair. _So this was the game_.

"I think not," she replied, keeping her voice even.

"He is the natural successor to Palazzo," Toscaneli replied. "As I said," he added, "the Centaurum is of one mind on this matter."

"I am not keen on appointing Durla Prime Minister at this time," Timov said, testing how far Toscaneli's allegiance to Durla would go. "Someone else, perhaps. Surely the Centaurum would be open to another candidate?"

"They might be swayed," Toscaneli said cautiously. "Given the right incentive."

Timov eyed the President. She needed to ensure the Centaurum did not act against her. And that meant she needed their support, or more specifically, Toscaneli's support. He was not entirely bound to Durla, it seemed, but he wanted something in return. _The dance_ , she thought, _of politics is a tiresome thing_.

"And what might that be?" she asked.

"Princess Senna has risen quite high in the eyes of the public, has she not?" he asked demurely.

"She has worked hard for the people's favor," Timov replied.

"That she has," President Toscaneli narrowed his eyes. "I have been loyal to House Mollari these many years since your husband ascended to Emperor. And I want to help you just as I have helped him, Madam Regent. But our houses have never been joined, and what better way to seal an agreement than with a marriage? Once upon a time, there was some discussion of our families uniting . . . my son to wed young Senna."

Timov's face drew taunt.

"There was that little unfortunate incident between them," Toscaneli shook his head, "but they were children then. My son professed his apology, and now I believe it would be appropriate to unite him and Princess Senna in marriage."

"You must be joking," Timov stood up.

"I might even offer my own hand in marriage," the elderly President smiled, "but I find I think more of the future now than myself, so I would prefer that it was my son."

Timov sternly cut him off, "Londo has granted to Senna the right to choose her own husband."

"But she has not exercised it," Toscaneli protested. "And he – and you acting in his place – have the power to rescind that offer, especially in light of her inability to find _and marry_ a husband. She is _still_ not betrothed. The gossip among the nobles is bursting with rumors. It is not good for the government, not good for the Crown, not good for anyone to let such gossip continue."

Timov listened quietly until she asked, "Your son has taken how many wives?"

"Two," Toscaneli said proudly. "Senna would be his third."

"I see," Timov circled the throne in thought before stopping in front of Toscaneli. Timov looked up at the wiry Centaurum President, and an icy smile formed on her lips. "I will give your offer the consideration it deserves."

"Thank you, Majesty," the Centaurum President bowed and just as he was about to depart, he turned to face her again. "As a sign of my family's good faith in your judgment, Majesty, I would caution vigilance."

"In what matter?" Timov asked cautiously.

"There have been rumors about the allegiance of His Majesty's personal security detail. You may wish to investigate," he inclined his head respectfully.

As the President departed the throne room, the smile fell from Timov's face.

* * *

That night, Shiv'kala stood in front of Timov, calmly watching the small woman as her eyes flashed with anger. "No," she said pointedly. "I won't."

Shiv'kala leaned in, narrowing his eyes. "You will," he hissed. "We had an agreement."

"I will maintain the status quo until Londo returns, but I _will not_ appoint Minister Durla as the Prime Minister," Timov said boldly and decisively. "I simply won't do it. I don't care how many allies Durla recruits to his side. You need the Emperor's approval, and I _will not_ give it."

"Then _we_ are not bound to the agreement," Shiv'kala pointed in the general direction of the hospital where Londo was being treated as he slowly squeezed his fist closed.

"The _agreement_ ," Timov said, brashly stepping toward the Drakh who towered over her, "was that Londo was to _live_. You know Londo is in ill health, and you will need someone else to take his place as your puppet upon the throne soon enough. Once Durla is Prime Minister, he will be heir apparent to the throne. If I appoint Durla as Prime Minister, you will have no reason to leave Londo alive, and I will have signed his death warrant. _That_ is the only reason you want Durla appointed Prime Minister. And I won't be any part of your plans when we had, as you say, _an agreement_."

Shiv'kala took a step back. He could not deny that the diminutive Centauri woman was clever and perceptive.

"You will regret this decision," Shiv'kala warned her as he faded into the darkness.

"Regret," Timov said to herself, "is a luxury I can no longer afford to feel."

* * *

The Empress acted quickly after her meetings with Toscaneli and Shiv'kala, and she immediately recalled her chief of staff from the Sea Palace.

Illyia took a royal transport, arriving as quickly as possible. Less than half a day after the royal command was sent, she found herself on the steps of the palace in the Capital City. Palco met her there, and grasping her hand, he weaved her through the crowds of courtiers until they reached the Emperor's office. There, Palco waived her in to a private audience with the Empress.

Seeing the Empress waiting for her, Illyia hesitated, but the Empress threw open her arms to embrace her chief of staff.

"You cannot imagine what we thought after they took you in the night at the Sea Palace," Illyia said breathlessly.

Timov grasped Illyia's arms with a sad smile, "Thank you for coming, Illyia." She turned, gesturing to Londo's office walls. "What do you think?" Timov's gaze fell upon a large portrait of a _baguan_ bird recently placed. "I needed something to cheer me while Londo is in the hospital."

Illyia stared at the _baguan_ bird wordlessly before her eyes returned to the Empress. At that moment, a Royal Guard approached the door, "Majesty, if you would like me to sweep the office for bugs?"

"No," Timov dismissed him with a wave, "that won't be necessary."

The guard bowed and departed, but Illyia saw Timov raise one of her eyebrows with the smallest nod in a barely discernible signal that someone was listening on their conversation.

"What can I do for you, Majesty?" Illyia asked cautiously.

"I needed some counsel from individuals I trust. Have you spoken with Phylakios?"

"Yes," her aide said. "He was injured quite severely the night you returned from the Sea Palace, and he has been in physical therapy since then. He has committed himself to returning to you as soon as—."

"—No," Timov shook her head. "He is doing important work where he is. He should continue his current assignment."

Illyia noted that the Empress said nothing else concerning the nature of his current assignment.

"But," the Empress continued, "I am concerned that Londo's regular guards have competing allegiances . . . ."

"Why would they have competing allegiances?" Illyia asked.

"The Minister of Defense once served as Londo's Captain of the Guards. After some inquiries, I have found that he has maintained an iron hold over their allegiance since he took a pay raise and became a minister. Given the Prime Minister's untimely death, I wish to ensure my husband is not murdered when he is defenseless."

Illyia's eyes widened in shock.

Timov pursed her lips, "I want Phylakios to find several trained and trusted guards that will swear their blood loyalty to Londo."

"To Londo?" Illyia looked confused. "Not to _you_?"

"No," Timov stressed, "To _Londo_. It is _very_ important that their fidelity to Londo is without question."

"I will deliver the message straight away," Illyia prepared to leave.

"And," Timov stopped her, "bring me Lord Wesa, wherever he has buried himself these days."

* * *

G'Kar waited patiently outside a telepath's house in the cool breeze. The flight from Dinelgth IV had been a brief one, and G'Kar wondered if this detour would be worth the trouble, but he knew that it was his best hope of completing his clandestine mission. While there were telepaths on Centauri Prime, he was not sure if any of them would help him – a foreigner, a Narn, and an alien – considering the anti-alien policies espoused by the Centauri over the last several years. _Besides_ , he thought, he needed someone with enough telepathic powers to glean whether the Drakh were in the Centauri caverns _without_ letting the Drakh know that _he_ knew – and that meant a high-powered telepath – the highest, in fact.

He would have preferred Lyta, but she was . . . unavailable. After everything Lyta had told him, this was his second choice . . . if only he could convince the telepath to assist him.

G'Kar stood stiffly in the telepath's courtyard, glancing over the garden that had clearly been cared for and well kept. G'Kar turned around, fingering the branches of a red-tipped, windswept willow. As he waited, his thoughts drifted back to the hurried conversation he had just had with Ta'Lon, the stoic ambassador who had taken his place on Babylon 5.

* * *

Less than a few hours before, Ta'Lon had appeared on G'Kar's communication console, bringing his fists to his chest in greeting when he saw who was on the screen.

G'Kar returned the gesture. "It is good to see you, Ta'Lon."

"What may I do for you, G'Kar?" Ta'Lon allowed a partial smile to brighten his features.

"I am concerned about the fleet G'Tsak is building to strike the Centauri."

Ta'Lon nodded. "Yes, he has found quite a few followers to fill his ranks. They say he has already gathered three ships with full crews."

G'Kar grimaced. "Knowing G'Tsak, he may not wait for the Kha'Ri's blessing to strike."

Ta'Lon inclined his head and gestured toward G'Kar with his hand. "Your voice has restrained him in the past from brash actions."

G'Kar snorted, "In my youth, I would have urged him on to such action. But I fear there may be much more at stake now."

Ta'Lon clasped his hands behind his back. "If I may ask, G'Kar, what is your specific concern?"

G'Kar shook his head in sadness. "Unhappiness has been growing within our own people for some time. The Kha'Ri have not moved as swiftly – or as judiciously – as the people would have liked. The Kha'Ri has failed the people in many ways - our economy has been slow to grow, our planet is a wasteland of its former self, and too few resources have been devoted to the rebuilding of our world. The Council knows that a distraction would serve useful in light of such unrest."

G'Kar paused thoughtfully, "I fear the politicians will seize on the distraction of a skirmish with the Centauri, rather than seeing to the _actual_ needs of our people."

G'Kar flipped a crystal into the monitor. "I am sending you a pre-recorded message that I want you to send to G'Tsak and _all of his ships_ if he is able to convince the Kha'Ri in my absence to attack the Centauri. In fact," G'Kar reconsidered, "you may send it to _any_ Narn ship that has orders to attack the Centauri."

Ta'Lon furrowed his brow. "May I ask the contents?"

"It is a message to my followers," G'Kar said, "telling them of where I have gone."

Ta'Lon waited patiently for G'Kar to continue.

"I am going," G'Kar said quietly, "to Centauri Prime to look into a few matters. Matters of the _utmost importance._ And I wish my followers to know that if they attack the Centauri, I may not return. Their actions will be on their heads."

Ta'Lon's eyes grew wide and he leaned in toward his monitor with agitation. "To Centauri Prime? But _why_ , G'Kar? It is unsafe for _any_ Narn."

"It may be so," G'Kar agreed. "And yet, I am going."

"Ta'Lon's stoic demeanor shattered. "But G'Kar," he protested, "if you deliver such a message – your followers are everywhere. It is possible they will sabotage our own ships to prevent you from coming to harm!"

"And that is why I am entrusting _you_ with the message," G'Kar told Ta'Lon. "You must use it judiciously. I am sorry, Ta'Lon, that I cannot fill you on in the details of my journey, but I cannot stress enough that absent an attack by the Narn, it is to remain secret given the magnitude of its importance."

Ta'Lon rocked back on his heels before his face brightened, "You are going to conduct peace talks on behalf of the Alliance?" he asked hopefully.

G'Kar stared at the monitor with a shake of his head. "I wish," he said quietly, "that was the nature of this mission. But I fear that it may be quite the opposite."

Ta'Lon narrowed his eyes at the comment.

"Ta'Lon," G'Kar changed topics. "There were a number of things I _should_ have done before I decided to leave, but I had . . ." he glanced away from the viewfinder, "good reason to undertake this mission as soon as possible."

G'Kar shuffled a few papers on his desk in front of him as his thoughts turned to Mollari's dream. "There is some chance," he continued, "that I will not come back from Centauri Prime, and if that happens, I did not have a chance to say goodbye to many of the people I care for, and . . . ." G'Kar looked back at Ta'Lon, "There is a safe in my quarters on Moxtoke. If I do not come back, you will find some correspondence I was unable to complete, some notes I have made, some small trinkets of my travels. There are my official papers as well – one of which appoints Na'Toth as guardian of my affairs when it is my time to pass beyond the Rim. I did not discuss this appointment with her – but if something happens, you will see that the letter appointing her is opened first."

"Of course," Ta'Lon inclined his head. "I will ensure your wishes are followed."

"Thank you, Ta'Lon," G'Kar raised his fists to his chest.

Ta'Lon returned the gesture as the communication blinked off.

* * *

G'Kar plucked a blossom from the fronds of a sun lily in the garden before him as he recounted the conversation with Ta'Lon in his mind. He held up the blossom, watching it unwind itself at his touch and inhaling its gentle scent when he heard the door to the house open behind him.

"Ambassador G'Kar," came the familiar voice.

"I'm afraid that since I last saw you," he turned around with a smile, "I am an ambassador no longer," G'Kar smiled. "Therefore, 'G'Kar' would be more than adequate. And, if I might say, you are a vision - although certainly not the one I envisioned after I had heard that you had been 'dissected.'"

There, before him, stood the poised - if slightly aged - vision of Talia Winters.


	29. Bad Omens

"'Dissection' is a quaint term for it," Talia sat down next to G'Kar on her sofa, handing him a cup of _paroga_ tea. "At least when you are dead, you can't feel anything. In a mental dissection – you feel every piece of your mind being ripped apart, piece by piece. It is _excruciating_. And the worst part is, if the torture is physical, you can hope for death. But when it is mental, there's no way out. You are imprisoned in a mind that won't die." Talia glanced at her tea. "If I believed in the Corps before, I lost my fidelity to them after what they did to me."

"Then how-?" G'Kar asked pensively.

"You're wondering how I got here?" Talia put down her tea, gazing into the distance. "Lyta came back for me. Her Vorlon powers . . . they continued to grow over the years, and once she could control them, she came back for me – for what was left of me, anyway. She pieced my mind and my personality back together. She was able to remove the sleeper personality that took control of me – but I've still got scars from it."

"What kind of scars?" G'Kar asked, narrowing his eyes.

Talia stared at him for a moment. "Just like Humpty Dumpty, Lyta couldn't put me all the way back together again," she said quietly. "These days I can't bear to sleep. My nightmares . . . ." She grimaced before she continued, "Try not sleeping for years on end, G'Kar, and see how it leaves you."

"I am sorry to hear that, Ms. Winters," G'Kar said sympathetically.

Talia shook her head, "I suppose we all have our scars."

G'Kar thought of the scars on his back from Cartagia. "I suppose we do." He cocked his head, "Lyta did mention that your telepathic powers had been enhanced."

Talia looked up at him, "Yes, Jason Ironheart gave me more than I can ever thank him for. Telekinetic powers and . . . more. Lyta helped me tap into that. Maybe she even touched me with her own Vorlon powers. I don't know. But as broken as I am, I'm beyond the reach of Psi Corps now. I moved here to put all of that behind me – to start a new life." She looked intensely at G'Kar, "And I want to leave it that way."

"I understand, Ms. Winters," G'Kar leaned forward. "But I need your services. Only someone with your calibper of powers can help me."

Talia's eyes bore into G'Kar's one good eye. "I understand," she said in a soft voice.

"The mission—" G'Kar began.

"I _understand_ _already_ ," Talia cut him off. "There could be another war - as devastating as the last. I can see it already in your mind. I will go with you to Centauri Prime," she looked back at him. "If I was granted these gifts, I should at least use them to help people, rather than waiting for them to tear me into pieces with nothing to show for it."

G'Kar stared hard at Talia Winters before he nodded slowly. "I have—"

"—a flyer waiting," Talia stood, "I know. And I'm ready. Let's go."

* * *

"Lord Wesa," Palco announced as the robust former minister approached the throne.

"Your Majesty," he bowed deeply, sweeping a hand to his hearts as he approached the Empress, who was sitting as if an iron rod ran through her back.

 _It was_ , Wesa thought, _yet another difference between the Emperor and his wife._ _Mollari_ , he thought, _sprawled effortlessly on the throne._ _But the Empress sat tensely upon the edge of the throne, ready to spring from it at any moment._

"Lord Wesa," Timov began. "You once offered your services to me, and I require them now."

Taking up a position in front of her, Wesa smiled, resting his clasped hands on his portly belly. Staring quaintly at his hands, he said, "I live to serve, Madam Regent."

"Except that you did not serve, not for long that is, as Prime Minister," Timov motioned for him to follow her, and he strode a step behind her as she descended the throne and led him from the throne room to the palace hallways.

"My health prevented serving as Prime Minister any longer," he offered with a shrug.

"Yes," Timov reached Londo's office and crossed its threshold, waiting until the door had closed and they were alone. "I heard about your health." She gestured him toward a chair. "I need your frank advice, Lord Wesa. I am without a Prime Minister, and it has set the Centaurum atwitter."

"Most unfortunate what happened to the Prime Minister," Wesa rocked back in his chair, staring at the _baguan_ bird behind her.

"Let me get to the point, Lord Wesa. Would you be willing to serve as my interim Prime Minister?" she asked.

"My health is still failing me," Wesa patted his belly with a sorrowful smile.

"I thought it might be affecting you still," Timov said. "At the time you resigned, everyone thought it was Minister Palazzo who had been behind your abrupt departure – or, that is to say, the state of your health."

A sheet fell over Wesa's face, and his posture stiffened.

"But since you will not return to a lucrative position even now when I ask, I ascertain that it must have been Minister Durla all along," Timov said thoughtfully. "Now what," Timov tapped a manicured finger on her chin as she stood up, "could make a man such as you, Lord Wesa, give up such a powerful position? One that you have spent your life vying for?"

Wesa shifted his weight uncomfortably in his chair.

Timov opened a drawer and pulled out a folder. She slid it across the desk to Wesa. When he did nothing, she encouraged him, "You may open it."

Wordlessly, Wesa opened the folder, glancing at its contents, and his face paled before he closed it again, setting it back on the desk.

"This," Timov pointed to the folder, "is what Minister Durla has on you, is it not?"

Wesa cleared his throat nervously. "Whether or not it is true _,_ " he began, "if this came to light, it would dishonor my entire House."

"Whether or not it is true," Timov agreed, "the information in this folder would indeed dishonor your House. Perhaps even destroy it." A dark glint appeared in Timov's eye. "You know the old Centauri saying: ' _I count among my dearest associates everyone who stands against those who stand against me."_ She smiled at him, "I think we are of one mind about Minister Durla. Like you, I am not fond of him, and I will not appoint him Prime Minister on my watch. I need someone, however, that may satisfy the Centaurum until Londo returns to his duties. As for this," she waved her hand toward the folder, "I am as keen as you are on keeping it private. And that is why you will serve as my interim Prime Minister."

"—But Durla," Wesa protested.

"Durla," Timov cut him off sharply, "will have nothing to worry about. He disposed of you because of his ambition. I will announce that the position of acting Prime Minister will be a temporary post only until Londo returns, and you will announce that do you will not seek the position of permanent Prime Minister - that you will serve only until Londo returns. You will simply state that in the government's time of need, you have returned to aid me, even though your health is waning. It will all appear very selfless of you. And Durla won't have to worry that his long-term ambition is being stifled."

Wesa tipped his chair backwards. "And to think everyone underestimates you because you are a woman," he snorted.

"There is one other matter standing in my way," Timov said grimly. "President Toscaneli has made some sort of a deal with Durla, but Toscaneli has declared that the Centaurum is willing to accept other candidates for the post of Prime Minister if I allow Senna to be betrothed to his son."

Wesa twiddled his fingers in thought. "President Toscaneli has been playing the grand game of politics longer than all of us," he replied. "You are caught between a rock and a hard place, Madam Regent. On the one hand, the Emperor has stated publicly that his adopted daughter will exercise her own choice in the matter, although this has displeased many of the noble Houses," he looked up thoughtfully. "But your husband is not a man to be crossed, so the noble Houses have said nothing publicly. On the other hand, President Toscaneli does not make idle threats. He knows that Princess Senna has been adopted by the Emperor, and by right of her adoption, she carries royal blood. Her offspring will have stronger claims to the throne than most. In addition, she brings with her the fidelity of House Refa, House Mollari, and . . ." he waggled his fingers at Timov, "probably House Algul as well. Toscaneli will persuade the Centaurum to act against you unless he gets what he wants, and what he wants cannot be filled by anyone or anything else. He is securing the position of his own House for the future. It is," he admitted, "a masterful move."

Timov's face grew tauter as she considered the situation further. "How can I frustrate Durla's rise to Prime Minister, then?" she asked.

"In my humble opinion, Madam Regent," Wesa sighed. "You don't have any choice. Young Senna must be betrothed to Toscaneli, the Younger."

Timov drummed her nails on Londo's desk, clearly irritated with her only option. "I will send for Senna," she said at last, displeasure evident in her tone.

* * *

John Sheridan and Delenn were enjoying two weeks away from their duties as President of the Interstellar Alliance and Entil'Zha of the Rangers. They had left their communication devices at home, finally allowing their deputies to step into their shoes for this long-awaited vacation. Their son, David Sheridan, had just turned sixteen years old, and they had taken him for a birthday retreat and the accompanying Minbari ceremony in the remote forest of Azatban on Minbar, two days travel from their residence in Tuzanor.

The trio had been welcomed by members of the religious caste in plain tan robes, a small sect charged with maintaining the sacred Azatban forest, and the Sheridans' retreat had been both peaceful and restful.

On the anniversary of the day of his birth, Sheridan and Delenn handed David the present that Emperor Mollari had entrusted them with on David's behalf nearly 16 years before. David unwrapped it with his customary half smile, shaking his light brown hair as he remarked on the odd shaped vase, "It's . . . enchanting," he drew a finger over its surface.

Sheridan and Delenn glanced at each other with a smile. "I'm sure Londo would be pleased that you like it. Now, as for that internship you've been asking about," John said to his son, "I've finally had a chance to talk to General Duval about it. He's agreed to let you serve as a junior member on staff now that you are eligible for a security clearance, and I've already put the paperwork through."

"Wow," David exclaimed.

"Now remember," Sheridan put up a hand stopping his son, "no special treatment around the office, all right?" He glanced at Delenn, seeing her approving nod before his gaze returned to David. "You'll report to General Duval, not to Delenn or myself. He won't let you skid by on anyone's reputation – only your own hard work."

"That means," Delenn smiled softly at her son, "you will be very busy now with the dual responsibilities of your studies and your duties on General Duvall's staff."

"I've been waiting forever for this chance," David said. "Thank you," he tented his thumbs and bowed in the Minbari fashion.

After his parents retired to bed, David picked up the sculpted vase given to him by the Centauri Emperor. It was unique, although he had seen it a number of times throughout his life. His parents had never hidden it or the story of how they had received it, but David had not been allowed to handle it until now. David smiled at the vase, remembering how he had gazed at it countless times, drawn to it by an unknown tether.

Under normal conditions, the keeper secreted inside the bottom of the base would have died without a host while it waited 16 years for the vase to be opened, but the keeper inside the vessel had been placed in the same life-saving stasis that Shiv'kala had used to keep Mollari alive during his latest heart attack. When David inspected the vessel, pulling the bottom out only to discover the keeper curled up in the bottom of the vase, the stasis was broken, and the keeper's biological rhythms quickly returned to normal.

Over the last 16 years, the keeper had been sending out a low level telepathic link to David, its future host, and the telepathic link had worked: when David discovered the keeper curled up in the bottom of the vessel, he didn't draw away in fear, but he grinned with interest.

"Hi, little guy," David addressed the keeper.

It blinked at him, extending one tentacle out slowly, and he touched it gently with a finger.

"Have you been waiting for me?" he smiled.

The keeper gently coiled its tentacle around his finger, watching him with interest, and he scooped it up in his hands. He felt a shiver of excitement as it shimmied its way toward his shoulder. Although he tried to keep it in his hands, it kept climbing his body until it nested happily in his shoulder.

David's grin grew wider as he noted how the keeper seemed drawn to him, and he petted it with two fingers. "There's something about you," he said to it. "Are you a Centauri pet?" he asked. He grimaced slightly when it inserted its tentacles into his shoulder. "Oh, easy," he said to it as its tentacles probed his spine for a neural connection.

In connecting with an adult, the keeper required surgical alterations, but in a child, a keeper could more easily sense its host's neurological pathways, and because David had a low-level telepathic link to the keeper, when it attempted to physically connect with him, he accepted it without protest, willfully welcoming it like an old friend.

After the keeper had made its connection to his spinal cord, he walked over to the mirror and cocked his head as its camouflage kicked in, making it disappear before his eyes. "Odd little guy," he said, watching it in the mirror.

David Sheridan and his keeper were finally one – an event the Drakh had been planning for close to two decades.

Over the coming weeks, David would find his keeper was not a gentle Centauri pet, but that it could inflict pain and suffering as it had on the Centauri Emperor, and its tethers to his nervous system could prevent him from telling anyone about its existence.

The Drakh had a new toy, and its name was David Sheridan.

* * *

"Vir!" The voice was not as loud or as strong as Vir Cotto remembered it, but its inflection was commanding, especially in the quietness of the middle of the night, and Vir awoke with a start, dashing to the Emperor's side as he stood up from his hospital bed. The tubes and wires in place for Londo's operation had already been removed, leaving only external devices to monitor him as he recuperated.

Vir made it just in time to feel Londo's hand close around his shoulder, using him as a support.

"We will go for a stroll, yes?" Londo grunted as he arose.

"Londo, I don't think—"

"—You shouldn't worry about starting _now_ then," Londo responded gruffly. "I will do the thinking for the both of us."

"No," Vir frowned, "it's not that I _don't_ think, it's that you _shouldn't_ be out of bed yet."

"Nonsense," Londo gestured for his clothes.

Vir assisted Londo with a robe before the Emperor turned toward the rear exit of his hospital suite, and Vir glanced worriedly toward the front door.

"Come on, Vir," Londo said emphatically. "The doctors said I should get a breath of fresh air."

Vir blinked helplessly. "I think they meant we could wheel you out on the balcony . . . ."

"An Emperor is not _wheeled_ anywhere, Vir. And I hope you are taking diligent notes in the unlikely event that Lady Morella's prophecy comes true."

But contrary to his cantankerous words, Londo patted Vir's shoulder affectionately, "Now, are you coming, Vir, or do I have to make the rounds by myself?"

"No . . . I mean . . . of course I'll go with you," Vir walked at Londo's elbow, watching Londo's slow progress with concern.

As they exited the suite, two guards on duty at the suite's back door glanced at each other before they snapped to attention, clearly surprised by the appearance of the Emperor and the Royal Adjutant in the wee hours of the morning. The soldiers swiftly fell in behind them, trailing them down the private hallway.

Londo veered into a lift, and just as the soldiers were about to enter, he shook his finger at them. "Take the next one," he told them. "Children's wing," he called out to them as the doors closed.

Londo leaned back on the lift's wall, starting to breathe harder. "Why have I not seen you of late, Vir?" he asked.

"You sent me to look after the Princess and the Empress," Vir replied.

"That I did," Londo closed his eyes from the brief exertion before his eyes opened again, lighter. "You have been busy ensuring Senna's happiness, looking after her, protecting her from the throngs of suitors as I requested, yes?"

Vir looked back at Londo, gulping. He noticed that Londo was waiting expectantly for him to say something, almost _too_ expectantly, and Vir was on the verge of telling Londo about his relationship with Senna when he remembered Londo's condition. _It's not a good time to upset him_ , Vir thought as he saw how pale Londo had become with the short exertion. "Maybe we should go back."

Londo waved a hand in dismissal, "I am not an egg, Vir."

"An egg?" Vir wondered how much sedative Londo was still on as the lift doors opened again.

"Not easily broken," Londo nodded toward the lift's open door. As they exited, his guards swiftly rejoined them. "But the best medicine is always good cheer, yes?"

"Yes, of course," Vir replied. Out of the corner of his eye, Vir saw a nurse peering at them from down the hallway.

At the sight of the Emperor wandering the hospital ward, the nurse punched a comm console, whispering into it, clearly informing the hospital staff of the Emperor's whereabouts.

Londo waved the nurse over with a commanding gesture, and the man hurried to his side, bowing.

Glancing down the darkened and quiet hallway, Londo asked, "Is anyone here yet awake?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," the nurse gestured toward a nearby room. "A young girl, Trello Calsaban, has been awake all night. She was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and tomorrow she will have an operation. She is finding it difficult to sleep, but I must warn you that the tumor inhibits her speech."

Londo acknowledged the nurse with a nod before turning toward the room and made his way toward the young patient's bed.

"Do you know who I am?" he said, his voice gathering strength as he approached the bed, the young girl glancing at him as her eyes widening in surprise. "Would you mind if I rested here next to you for a moment? It is a tiring walk I have taken down to see you."

The girl's mouth dropped open as she realized who was visiting her.

Londo turned to Vir with a grin before he dropped himself into the chair at her bedside. "Do you know that as the Emperor, I have a very important duty? I have to learn _every person's name_ in the Republic."

The girl's eyes grew larger. She pointed at her chest, in awe of the Emperor sitting before her.

"You think I don't know your name?" Londo asked, leaning forward.

She shook her head, her eyes still wide as she mouthed the word, "No."

"Let me see," Londo glanced at the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. "It is Trello, yes?"

The girl's jaw fell further, and Vir smiled at her reaction.

"Trello," Londo said, "that is a beautiful name. It is a Northern name, yes?"

Trello nodded, her eyes sparkling with delight.

"There are many fine Houses in the North," Londo told her solemnly. "Besides Mollari, one of the very finest is House Calsaban. Do you belong to House Calsaban?"

Trello's smile widened, and she nodded emphatically.

"Ah, very good," Londo smiled. "Now, I understand you are going for surgery tomorrow, yes?"

Trello's smile faded, and the girl bit her lip with a small nod.

"Yes, I understand," Londo agreed, "It can be very scary. "I, myself, have just come from surgery." He pulled the nape of his robe down slightly so she could see the fresh incision marks healing on his chest. "Do you want to know what they did to me?"

Trello blinked several times as she saw his incisions but finally she bobbed her head.

"I wore out my hearts," Londo told her, "so they have given me new ones. It is a good sign, yes? That I used them so much that I had to get new ones?"

Trello flashed a smile.

Londo continued, "I will tell you, my dear, that I was afraid before I went in to my surgery. But I did not need to be afraid because," he smiled, opening his arms. "Here I am, and now I am indestructible." He leaned forward and said quietly, "I am better than before – just like you will be after your surgery." He glanced at his incision marks as he gestured toward them, "I have told the doctors not to heal my scars – to leave them just as they are - so that I can remember," he told her. He shook a finger at her, "But you are still saying to yourself that you are afraid of your surgery tomorrow, hmm?"

Trello nodded slowly.

"Do you want to know the secret of brave people?"

Trello waited for his reply.

"The truth is that they are all afraid." Londo leaned toward her, as if divulging a secret, "And yet, _still_ , they do what must be done. That is the true meaning of bravery, Trello. Not the absence of fear but the ability to go forward even when it is _very_ scary. So tomorrow, when you are afraid, you will remember this, yes? That the Emperor himself came to . . ." Londo shook his fist, "cheer you up. And when you have your scars, as I do now, do not hide them, for they are marks of your bravery. Those scars show that you have become someone better and braver than the day before. Yes?"

Trello nodded her understanding, and Londo smiled. "I have time for one short story to put you to sleep," he told her. "Perhaps you know it? It is the story of the last feudal king to fall before Emperor Toscano's coutari." Animatedly, Londo recounted the final battles of the king before the defeated king knelt before Emperor Toscano.

"Do you remember what the last tribal king uttered before his head rolled past Emperor Toscano's feet to create our great Republic?" Londo asked her.

Trello nodded. Although the words were in were unrecognizable in modern Centauri standard, every Centauri school child memorized the words in the original Ancient Centauri. As Londo said the words, she mouthed them with him, " _Oureiariouro re eusaulo_."

"Yes, never forget them," Londo smiled, pushing himself out of the chair at last as he patted her hand. "They are the foundation of our Republic," he smiled at her. "Good night, Trello," he gazed softly at her before he turned to Vir, his energy spent. "Perhaps we should return now, Vir."

Vir nodded, waggling his fingers at the girl in goodbye before he escorted Londo back to his suite.

On their way back, Londo took longer than before, resting several times on the way back, almost unable to make the short trip back to his suite. The extended walk gave Vir time to think about Londo's words about bravery to young Trello, and Vir wondered if he shouldn't just acknowledge, at long last, his relationship with Senna. But as he saw Londo's pallor and his state of exhaustion, Vir pushed his thoughts away.

"Maybe you've overdone it?" Vir offered gently.

"No, Vir, and I don't need a lecture from you," Londo said with annoyance. "It was good for my soul, if not my body. I have missed being among the people," his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't know why I have neglected it." He shook his head, as if trying to clear it.

"There's still time," Vir felt himself supporting more of Londo's weight as Londo had tired himself out by the exertion of the short walk.

Londo agreed, "Yes, there is still time. I will start by allowing the Deradi children to visit the palace. Timov was after me some time ago about it. I forbade children in the palace after Traco's death, but," he squinted, trying to remember the details, "Urza would be unhappy if he knew I banished them from the palace due to an accident. It is at least a start."

As Vir and Londo returned to Londo's hospital suite, the door whooshed open, and Senna turned, having been waiting for them. She had been watching the latest news, filled with stories about the Prime Minister's murder and the Emperor's state of health, and as she saw them, she immediately flipped off the communications console in surprise as she abruptly stood up.

Leaning heavily on Vir, Londo narrowed his eyes at the screen before he gestured to it. "Senna," he commanded, "turn that newcast back on."

Senna's eyes darted to Vir and back to Londo, but there was nothing she could do. She reluctantly flipped the channel back on.

The newscaster's intonation droned on, "The Ministry of Defense has opened an inquiry into the Prime Minister's murder, and . . . ."

Londo's face turned dark as he watched the broadcast. "Have my carriage prepared to return to the palace first thing in the morning," he commanded in a low growl.

"But Londo," Vir tried to interrupt him.

"Do it," Londo reiterated, firmly.


	30. Marital Bliss

Senna stepped out of Londo's hospital room and immediately contacted the palace. After some time, the tired vision of Timov appeared, and when she heard that Londo had instructed that his carriage be prepared first thing in the morning, she snapped awake. "Senna," she said, "it would be best if I saw you immediately. I have run into some difficulties, and I must speak with you."

In the darkness of the early morning hours, Senna traveled the short distance across the Capital City to the palace, and there, she found the Empress waiting for her in Londo's office.

After greeting her adopted daughter warmly with a hug, Timov got directly to the point. "Since I have been acting in Londo's place, I have not been able to put my full faith and trust in Minister Durla."

Senna glanced at the picture of the _baguan_ bird behind Timov. "I understand," she said, suspecting Durla had something to do with the warning the bird symbolized.

"It is _important_ ," Timov continued, "that Durla not ascend to Prime Minister until Londo returns. And the doctors are adamant about Londo resting until his body accepts the new heart. I will not be able to convince him to stay away from the palace unless he believes there is adequate leadership in his absence. I have persuaded Lord Wesa to return – temporarily – as Prime Minister, but I have run into some complications with the Centaurum. To ensure Londo doesn't kill himself by resuming his duties immediately, I must ask something I am loathe to say out loud. But it is, unfortunately, the only option."

"If I can do anything . . ." Senna replied.

Timov put a finger to her lips, as if trying to will away the words she was about to speak. At last, in a quiet voice, she said, "To ensure the Centaurum's seal of approval in the matter of an acting Prime Minister, Lord Toscaneli, the Younger, requests the Crown's approval for your hand in marriage."

Senna's mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in surprise. "But . . ." she said, aghast.

"I know, Senna," Timov returned to Senna's side, taking her hands. "I want to assure you that I have no intention that you will, in fact, marry the man."

Pensive relief washed over Senna's face, "But what, then, do you mean?"

"The arrangement will buy time until Londo returns. When he does, he will not allow such an arrangement to proceed, and he will simply call it off." Timov clasped her hands in assurance. "I will ensure it."

Senna considered the Empress's words at length. "If I might ask," Senna replied, glancing back at the _baguan_ bird. "I know what His Majesty has done for me, personally. But there are things over the last few years with respect to the country . . . what I mean to say is . . . ."

"You mean to ask if he deserves to continue living?" Timov said with her notorious frankness.

Senna cast her eyes to the floor. "It's just that-"

"-I understand," Timov replied with a sigh as she put a hand to her temple. "I can tell you with sincerity that the alternative to Londo would be far worse. And," she added, "no one understands the gravitas of the situation the Centauri Republic currently faces more keenly than Londo. Of that, you may be certain."

Senna stared at Timov silently as she contemplated the situation. She was no longer a child who blindly followed anyone's orders, but Timov's blunt assertation convinced her of the necessity of House Toscaneli's proposal.

"All right," she nodded her head slowly. "I will do it. I have heard my entire life that duty requires sacrifice. I don't think I really understood that until now. Generations of Centauri women have made that sacrifice on behalf of their houses. I, too, will fulfill my duty if it is required. At least," she added, "I know some women have been spared the sacrifice of marrying into a loveless marriage for the sake of House allegiances."

"Oh?" Timov said, an eyebrow arched. "Like whom?"

"Well, like _you_ ," Senna said, innocently.

"Oh child," Timov laughed, "you don't know the half of what I've put up with in the name of House allegiances."

* * *

On the day he returned to his office after David's birthday, one of the Minbari acolytes approached John Sheridan.

"Mr. Present, G'Kar of Narn called several times for you."

"G'Kar?" Sheridan laughed, a half-cocked smile appearing on his face. "Did he leave a message?"

"No," the acolyte bowed. "But it did seem like a matter of some urgency."

"Try to reach him," Sheridan instructed, pointing toward the monitors in his office. "I wonder what it could have been about . . . ." he mused.

Unfortunately, none of Sheridan's attempts to contact the Narn were returned, and President Sheridan's thoughts were otherwise occupied with the preparation required for a conference with multiple Earth Force generals.

* * *

At the Empress's command, President Toscaneli and his son arrived to the throne room with the smirk of success curling their mouths into smiles. A third, quiet man accompanied them, trailing at their heels.

"I will agree to your formal request to bind our houses through marriage," Timov addressed President Toscaneli pointedly. "But the news of such an act will aggravate Londo since he has not been consulted, and in his present condition, he is not to be disturbed with anything that will cause him stress. Therefore, my condition is this – the wedding engagement must remain secret until Londo's medical situation is resolved."

President Toscaneli rubbed his thumbs against his fingers, processing this request. "I'm afraid it would be absurd of me to agree merely to a secret engagement, something easily dismissed by His Majesty once he returns. No," Toscaneli stepped forward boldly, "they must be married, in secret as you requested of course, to ensure our understanding is perfectly clear." He gestured to the newcomer behind him. "I have brought a priest of Trias to perform the necessary rites and sanction the marriage in the eyes of the gods."

Senna's eyes darted from Timov to Toscaneli, but Timov sat perfectly still, iced into position on the throne, saying nothing.

As the moments ticked away, Senna pushed her tears away as she saw her hopes of a future with Vir swallowed by her duties to the Crown and House Mollari. At last, Senna stepped forward and bowed her head toward Timov. "I will accept this marriage if it is the wish of the Crown," she said, a strength of will forcing her through each word.

Timov stared at her charge wordlessly before she turned to Toscaneli. "You realize, do you not, President Toscaneli, that you will have robbed Londo of seeing the marriage of his one and only daughter. Do you believe he will welcome such a union with open arms when he learns of such a betrayal?"

Toscaneli unflinchingly returned the Empress's icy gaze. "A betrayal that will be shared by both of us—if he decides to keep score." Toscaneli paused thoughtfully. "Anyway, like many Centauri, Mollari has never been fond of marriage ceremonies. We are saving him from enduring it. And," he smiled, "if the gods favor the couple, he will have nothing to be unhappy about – for young Senna will be carrying his grandchild before he returns."

Timov froze again before she slowly, deliberately stepped off the throne, turning to Senna. Taking the girl's hands, she whispered, "Senna . . . "

"I am ready," Senna replied, her words taunt with nervousness.

"You don't have to do this," Timov said quietly, out of the earshot of the others, "I'll find some other way."

"Centuries of Centauri women have endured these marriages," Senna bit her lip. "And if it was not important, you would not have asked me," Senna said. "I just don't know what I will say to Vir."

Timov looked into her charge's eyes. "It is true that centuries of Centauri women have endured these marriages. And centuries of Centauri women have found ways to make themselves happy regardless of their vows to their husbands. The gods understand that – just look at _their_ behavior."

Senna nodded and then tipped her chin upward, indicating her readiness with fierce determination.

Timov turned to the priest, and she raised two fingers. "You may begin," she told him solemnly, feeling the wretched ache of the Crown's responsibility weighing on her hearts.

* * *

When the secret nuptials were complete, President Toscaneli strode forward with a smile, formally signing Timov's pronouncement that Lord Wesa would act as interim Prime Minister.

Their business concluded, the President turned to his son and his new daughter-in-law. "Enjoy your marriage bed tonight," he elbowed the younger Toscaneli with a smirk. "I wonder if I didn't make a mistake in not taking her for myself," he laughed jovially as he winked at Senna, his eyes travelling down her dress.

Timov interrupted him with cold words, "I'm afraid that will have to wait," she said, handing the signed order to Emanio. "Londo has asked that Senna accompany him as he recuperates."

"But . . . " President Toscaneli stared at the Empress for a moment, the smile falling from his face."

"You wanted your trophy, President Toscaneli, and you got her," Timov said stiffly. "But as a member of the royal court, Senna's duties are her foremost concern."

"But—but . . ." Toscaneli protested, "it is their _wedding_ night! They have wedding responsibilities to perform."

"Your son has two other wives who are perfectly capable of satisfying marital responsibilities on this night or any other," Timov said testily. "As I said before, Senna has royal duties. You wanted your family to be a part of the royal court, then you must also embrace the duties that keep us occupied at all hours of the day and night. Senna will make her way to her new home when the Emperor of the Republic no longer has need of her. I have kept my part of the bargain, and now you will keep yours."

The elder Toscaneli snapped his jaw shut. "If I may beg my leave," he bowed stiffly.

"You may," Timov's gazed steadily at him as he backed away respectfully.

* * *

After he was apprised of the news by Plancho, Wesa approached the Empress in the throne room. "Madam Regent," Wesa twiddled his thumbs in thought, "I would advise you that Toscaneli is playing the long game."

"What do you mean?" Timov asked, her eyebrow raised in concern.

"Let us just say that his son has little to worry about if the Emperor does not return to his duties."

Timov took this grim news in stride as Emanio entered, waving a message.

"Lord Cotto," Emanio said breathlessly, "said he is unable to delay His Majesty any further, and the royal motorcade is on its way."

"Quickly," Timov gathered up her dress, waving to Senna to follow her.

* * *

David Sheridan silently carried the report to General Duval's side before retreating to the wings of the bright and spacious room at Interstellar Alliance headquarters. Before him, there were no less than six Earth Force generals attending the conference on Minbar.

David noticed his father deep in conversation with one of the generals, and before long, he saw his father wave him over.

"David," President Sheridan said, gesturing to his companion. "Do you remember General Ivanova?"

"Of course," David tented his thumbs and bowed to the woman before him. "It is a pleasure to see you again, General Ivanova."

"I've heard you are working on General Duval's staff," Ivanova waved toward Duval's direction.

"Yes," David nodded with a grin.

"Don't let him bury you in bureaucracy," Ivanova warned him, an edge to her tone when she mentioned Duval.

"Oh, don't mind Susan," David's father chuckled, "she's always looking on the bright side of things."

Before David could reply, he saw General Duval stand up on the other side of the room, looking for his aide, and David excused himself from the conversation with an apology.

When he reached General Duval, the older man was engrossed in conversation. "Strategically," he was saying with a frown, "we need to concentrate on the most important transportation routes. We don't have enough ships to patrol the Kylias sector, and the jumpgate will be down at least another few days." He turned to David, handing him some papers. "Take this down to my office," Duval instructed the young man.

David accepted the papers with a slight bow. As he turned away, he heard Duval continue the conversation. "Anyone targeting the Kylias sector would have to get mighty lucky to hit it during this window. It is a risk we will have to take. The Plansiar and Kelsor systems are likewise vulnerable with minimal military support, but I've made it clear we need to prioritize patrols to those sectors – the resources there are too valuable to leave hanging out in the open without more adequate security."

After another moment, David Sheridan was out of earshot, but the Drakh had heard everything they needed to hear.

* * *

The royal motorcade wound its way from the hospital to the imposing palace gates. As the gates slid open, the motorcade entered the palace grounds, but the royal carriage abruptly halted.

Londo leaned forward in his seat as he peered out the window, "Why have we stopped?"

Vir stood up, glancing nervously out the carriage window.

At that moment, the carriage doors whooshed open, and the Empress marched into the royal carriage, Senna at her heels.

Londo turned from the window, shifting in his seat to see Timov standing in the doorway, "Ah," he said, chagrined. "My wife, the usurper."

Timov raised an eyebrow in annoyance. "My husband, the reformer."

Londo tried to push himself out of his seat to stand, "I should never have told you that annoyed me," he said as Vir supportively caught his elbow.

"Oh Londo," Timov caught Vir's eye and indicated he should deposit Londo back in his seat. "Don't get up. You're not even meant to be out of your bed yet – and I know how much you enjoy being in bed," she said.

"Don't tell me what to do," Londo glanced at her in annoyance as he sat back down into the cushions of the carriage with Vir's help.

"I'm telling you what _not_ to do," Timov pointed out with her usual aplomb.

"Details," Londo growled with annoyance. "Anyway, I would be in bed," he grumbled, "if you lot weren't keeping important information from me. Did you really think you could keep the news from me that the Prime Minister was assassinated?"

When Timov attempted to answer, he waved a hand dismissively. "I had to return. I didn't have any choice."

Timov rolled her eyes with a sigh. "It _is_ under control," she insisted.

"How can such a thing possibly be under control?" he asked. "Who is going to help you guide the government?" Londo snorted before he continued his thoughts, "Anyone you can find will be just as new as you are at running the country. I cannot allow it."

"Then tell me who you _would_ allow?" Timov set the trap.

"I can't think of a single person," he replied curtly. "Now why have you stopped my carriage at the gates? I'm not a vagabond to be left out on the steps. We will talk about it inside."

Ignoring him, Timov asked again, "No one at all?"

Staring at her, Londo shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps Wesa," he said with a snort. "Good luck getting him," he added.

Timov snapped at the doors, and they opened again, revealing the figure of Wesa.

"Majesty," Wesa bowed, before shuffling to one of the transport's couches.

"Wesa!" Londo leaned back into the cushions as he stared at Timov. "I don't understand it," he growled at last. "And the Centaurum has approved it?"

Wesa handed over the order signed by Timov and Toscaneli. "All the formalities have been completed, Majesty," Wesa replied.

Londo glanced at the order, his brow furrowing as he read it. Looking up, he asked, "It is temporary?"

"Only until Your Majesty returns and you are able to resume your duties," Wesa inclined his head.

"How very selfless," Londo muttered suspiciously, his eyes darting from person to person in the carriage. "If you will all kindly give me a moment with my wife, alone." He raised a hand, waving it dismissively.

In short order, the cabin of Londo's royal carriage was drained of occupants, leaving only Timov. "What are you doing?" he asked her. "You think I don't know a setup when I see one?"

"I am ensuring the country's welfare," Timov replied with a sigh of impatience.

"I would like to know how you got Wesa to return," he said, "and why you refuse to let me set foot in the palace. I can see the rest of the motorcade being loaded with baggage from here."

"Wesa is as concerned about the country's welfare as you are," Timov said. "And as for the palace, I thought it was obvious – the doctors said you needed time away. And I _know_ you – as soon as you step inside, you'll be intractable. Besides, there are a number of meetings this morning – exactly the sort of thing your doctors advised against until you are feeling better, so I ordered the porters to load your baggage out here. You promised you would take a vacation, and this is the only way to ensure you actually _do_ it."

Londo stared wordlessly at Timov before, at last, he nodded his head slowly in resignation. "All right. It is a great hardship, but i will take a vacation," he said dryly.

"At last, you are practicing some sense," Timov leaned forward, squinting at Londo. "Now what is that monstrosity on your face?"

"This?" Londo stroked his unshaven chin. "The hospital wouldn't let anyone near my throat with a razor. Security concerns."

"I do hope you will see to it soon," Timov said archly, "you look like a homeless person."

"Good," Londo shook a finger at her, "perhaps I can walk unnoticed among the people on my vacation." He looked delighted with the idea.

"Yes, surely the Emperor and his entourage can simply blend into a crowd with the aid of a few unfortunately placed chin hairs," Timov shook her head in disbelief. "Speaking of people holding a razor to your throat, I'm sending Illyia along to ensure everything goes smoothly."

"Your chief of staff?" Londo protested. "She doesn't listen to a word I say, she has the personality of death incarnate, and she probably eats babies for breakfast. Do you really think that she will be an asset to my state of health?"

"Yes," Timov smiled, "she will be perfect."

Londo snorted in frustration.

"Besides," Timov continued, "she will ensure you follow the doctor's orders."

"Doctor's orders," Londo growled. "I'm not going anywhere for a while—have I ever told you the story of my death dream?"

"Yes, Londo," Timov said, a touch impatiently. "You have told _everyone_ the story of your death dream."

"Well, exactly," Londo said, brightening. "There is not a Narn to be seen anywhere, so I don't know why you are so worried about me recovering from this heart attack."

"Death dreams don't always come true, Londo," Timov said pointedly.

" _Wrong!_ " Londo shook his head. "Those are cases of people who did not properly identify their death dream. But _I_ have!"

"Fine," Timov shrugged, knowing it was a losing battle to argue with him over it, so she sat down next to Londo, changing the subject. "I spoke with the doctors," she put a gentle hand on his knee. "They said one of the side effects might be some temporary memory loss, so if you can't remember things, don't worry, it will come back as you regain your strength."

Londo stared at Timov, "That didn't happen the last time," he said cautiously.

"No," she replied, "but you are older now. It is," she repeated, "nothing to worry about."

Londo's gaze softened, "It is good to see you," he said. "Now help me up."

"Londo," Timov said warningly.

But Londo proceeded to push himself into a standing position, and he stared down at his wife who stood to steady him. "I remember what it was like," he said softly gazing at her.

"What are you talking about," Timov asked, perplexed.

"Come here," he told her before he wrapped her in a hug and held her to his chest. "I remember," he said quietly into her ear, "how terrifying the first few days of being Emperor were. The responsibility. The weight. The expectations. I have been there, Timov, and I know it cannot be easy for you."

Timov's lip quivered, and she closed her eyes, leaning into him.

"I know that you are a woman who does not accept weakness in others, and certainly not in yourself," Londo said, still holding her close. "It is all right to let it out."

Timov sniffed, trying to hold back her tears at the thought of the strain of the last few days. "The one person I can't afford to show weakness to is standing in front of me," she managed to say haltingly.

"Timov," Londo held her closer as he gazed over her head at the wall of the royal carriage, "no one can see you cry right now, not even me."

At his words, Timov couldn't help but think of all that had happened over the past few days, and she could not stop her tears from falling silently into his jacket. When, at last, they were spent, she pulled back from his embrace and said, "As I recall _you_ are the one who cries in this family."

Londo chuckled for a moment before he responded, "We are always saying goodbye, yes? Years ago I looked forward to goodbyes—to leaving—, but now . . . ."

Timov patted his hand, "I feel the same way. Come back, Londo, when you are ready. Not a moment before, because I will never forgive you if you are dead."

Londo smiled, throwing his arms out to the side dramatically. "I told you – _that_ is in the hands of a Narn. Quite literally."

"I trust that it is a long time from now," Timov replied.

Londo leaned down and kissed her tenderly, "Of course it is."

* * *

As the Emperor's motorcade departed the Palace grounds once again and unbeknownst to Londo or Timov, thousands of miles away, the tall, imposing figure of one Narn religious figure descended from Ja'Tok's flyer, breathing in the air, once again, of Centauri Prime.


	31. Stardust

President Sheridan jerked the data crystal out of the monitor as he stood up. "I don't get it," he said under his breath as he turned to General Duval, depositing the crystal back in the General's hand. "Because of more pressing security concerns, we couldn't afford to send security escorts to the Kylias sector for a few days until its jumpgate was fixed, and now we haven't heard from them in three days. Raiders have been trying to get their hands on the phosolium in Kylias for years – it would be just our luck if they struck at such an opportune time."

General Duval nodded grimly. "Hopefully it is just a solar storm interfering with their communications, but we might want to move up the timetable for sending repair ships to their jumpgate."

Sheridan nodded, "Do that – and keep me apprised of what you find."

Duval saluted smartly before he left the President's office.

* * *

Shortly before the royal motorcade embarked from the palace grounds, Timov departed her husband's carriage, calling to Wesa to as she stepped down.

"Prime Minister Wesa," Timov said as she grasped Vir's elbow lightly, pulling him to her side as she turned to the Prime Minister. "The Royal Adjutant is working on several imperative projects on Londo's behalf. You will ensure that he receives access to anything he needs."

"His Majesty's wishes are my command," Wesa inclined his head. "If I may ask the nature of the Royal Adjutant's mission…?"

"One of the projects that Londo has put him in charge of is unannounced inspections of government facilities," Timov said.

Vir looked sideways at Timov, "He _has_?" As it dawned on him that Timov was arranging for unfettered access to the bomb sites, Vir recovered, "Oh _that_. Yes, of course, I had forgotten." He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.

Timov gave Vir a pointed look before she directed her attention back to Wesa. "Can you ensure Vir and his team have the appropriate security clearances to complete their tasks? I do not want them to have to contact the Ministry of Defense every time they need to access a facility."

"Of course," Wesa intertwined his chubby fingers. "I will make some calls to ensure the Royal Adjutant will get everything he needs under the strictest of confidentiality. He and his team will have no problems, I assure you."

"Very good," Timov nodded briskly, glancing at Vir with a knowing look. "Vir will let you know of anything he needs to complete his duties." She turned on her heel, marching back toward the palace as courtiers swarmed behind her.

"I will be more than pleased to do it," Wesa called out after her disappearing figure.

As Wesa turned back to the Royal Adjutant, Vir faced him. "I've got a long list of places Londo wants me to visit," Vir said sheepishly.

Wesa folded his arms, "Of course. His Majesty has routinely requested intelligence unlikely to be relayed in the official state communiqués prepared for him."

Vir gave Wesa a half smile, "He wrote a lot of diplomatic communiqués himself, so he knows what is usually left out of them."

"Indeed," Wesa replied patiently.

Hearing Londo bellowing from inside the carriage, Vir quickly made his apologies and took his leave from the Prime Minister. "I'll contact you with the full list shortly, Prime Minister," Vir said over his shoulder as he turned back toward the carriage.

The Prime Minister rested his clasped hands on his portly belly, indicating his acquiescence with a nod.

* * *

Vir ducked through the closest door of the royal carriage. As he made his way through the elaborate carriage, Vir passed Senna in the vessel's narrow hallway. He noticed that she gazed at her feet with a drawn expression instead of making eye contact with him.

As Vir sat down at Londo's side, he couldn't help but glance back toward Senna who had taken a seat facing them. Vir intuitively knew that something was troubling her deeply, but he had little time to think about it as the motorcade began to move, swiftly departing the palace's gates.

"Vir!"

The sound of Londo's voice interrupted Vir's thoughts, and he jumped in his seat. "Yes, Londo?"

"The guards - the ones that just came aboard at the palace - I don't know them . . . ." The Emperor waved toward the motorcade surrounding the royal carriage.

Vir's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh, yes. I meant to tell you," he waved Illyia over and informed her of the Emperor's inquiry.

"Yes, the guards are newly appointed," Illyia addressed the Emperor. "Her Majesty felt their fidelity might be in question."

"Why?" Londo asked suspiciously.

"They were closely associated with your Minister of Defense when he previously served as your Captain of the Guards," Illyia told him. "She thought it would be best, under the present circumstances, to ensure everyone on your guard detail has no outlying allegiances."

Vir furiously dug through his pockets before withdrawing a data crystal from his waistcoat which he offered to Londo.

"I see," Londo glanced at Vir's outstretched hand before slowly reaching for the data crystal.

"Her Majesty provided their backgrounds and security records in case you wanted to review them," Illyia informed him.

Londo glanced at Vir, "Did you review them, Vir?"

Vir nodded, "Her Majesty ensured the selections were extensions of your own house or were staunch allies of House Mollari. And all of the new guards took a blood oath to protect your life at the cost of their own."

Londo grunted in approval. "Do you want to know what that is?" Londo asked lightly. "A lost opportunity! Timov could inherit all of my wealth, but she has squandered her best opportunity to do so." He snapped at a nearby porter and gestured for a drink.

"Papa . . . " Senna said disapprovingly from her seat as Vir and Illyia frowned. "The doctors said no alcohol until you are feeling better . . . ."

"That is what will make me feel better," Londo grinned but seeing Senna's face he capitulated at last. "All right," Londo dismissed the proffered drink with a wave. "This vacation is getting off to an unfortunate beginning anyway. At least it will get better when we get to our destination."

"Where are we off to?" Vir asked, "the Great House?"

"No," came Londo's reply. "In her infinite wisdom, Timov has ensured that the Great House is devoid of life. I have instructed the pilots to take me to your estate, Vir. I have been wanting to see it – what better time than now, yes?"

Vir's face paled, and for the first time since the hospital, his eyes found Senna's as they exchanged worried glances. Neither of them knew what had been behind Londo's orders concerning aliens on the one hand and his surreptitious appeal to Abraham Lincolni on the other, so neither was confidant that allowing him to see the alien colony was a good idea.

Vir's eyes widened in shock as he glanced at Senna. "Uh . . . uh," he stammered. "I don't think that is a good idea, Londo." Vir wracked his brain for a plausible explanation to keep Londo away from the alien colony.

"Nonsense," Londo chastised him, "it is an excellent idea. We shall be there before nightfall."

* * *

After exiting the flyer, Ja'Tok, G'Kar, and Talia surveyed their surroundings as the governor of the alien "colony" on Vir's estate ran toward them breathlessly.

"You made it back!" the Governor clapped his hand on Ja'Tok's shoulder. "We'll need a few hours to get everyone ready for the return voyage." The Governor peered closely at the new Narn and the human who had descended from the flyer. "Oh goodness, you've brought visitors?" He twisted his hands nervously. "I'm not sure that was a good idea."

"Just a little sightseeing tour," G'Kar said lightly as he surveyed the surroundings.

The Governor's eyes widened. "Erhm," he cleared his throat, "the Centauri have retreated from interstellar diplomacy the past few years, so perhaps the state of Centauri politics isn't widely known, but they aren't exactly welcoming tourists these days."

G'Kar leaned toward the Governor, his one good eye twinkling, "Narn do not like pampered vacations. We like an element of _danger_ when we are on holiday."

The Governor stepped back, "Oh." His mouth snapped shut before a look of recognition dawned on his face. "You're—you're G'Kar of Narn?"

"I'm certainly not G'Kar of the Drazi Freehold, that is true." G'Kar glanced at the Governor with flagging interest.

"Fremon – Jake Fremon, originally of the Mars Colony." The Governor stuck out his hand. "I had the chance to visit Babylon 5 a few times while you were an ambassador there – I hear you are a great religious leader among your people now."

"I do what I can to lead my people toward enlightenment," G'Kar remarked, inclining his head solemnly before reluctantly grasping the human's hand. The human pumped it vigorously. As he was doing so, G'Kar glanced sideways, seeing a number of Centauri had started to gather around them. In muted whispers, he could hear them talking about him, and one approached the Governor, leaning into his ear.

The Governor listened before he turned back to G'Kar. "Is it true you've been here before? To Centauri Prime?"

"Oh yes," G'Kar said with a hint of aloofness. "You might say this planet left its scars."

The Governor took a step back solemnly, "I see - it has for all of us here. What can we do for you?"

"My companion," G'Kar motioned to Talia Winters, "and I have come to see your caverns."

The Governor's eyes widened again as he turned to Talia. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name?"

"Talia," she said, slowly extending her bare hand. As they touched, she blinked quickly before releasing it again. "Just Talia."

"Good to meet you, Talia. You can imagine we don't get many visitors," Fremon chuckled.

"Don't worry, Governor, neither of my companions will be staying long." Ja'Tok gestured toward the cavern in the distance. "While you are busy in the cavern, I'll be loading the flyer if you need anything," he said to G'Kar and Talia.

"Since Ja'Tok will be busy looking over the manifest for the next flight," the Governor waved G'Kar and Talia to follow him. "I'd be more than happy to show the cavern to you, though why it would hold your interest to you, I don't know." The Governor waved to them to follow him. "After me," he said.

As the trio set off across the estate, Talia leaned into G'Kar's ear, whispering, "He is annoyed that we took two seats on Ja'Tok's flyer. It will prevent two more people from getting off Centauri Prime, and if we stay, we'll be a burden on their food supplies."

G'Kar took this in stride, and the trio continued their walk past the agricultural gardens and the cultivated fields before they finally arrived at the cavern's entrance. They paused momentarily as the Governor greeted the children playing inside, and he gestured to G'Kar and Talia to follow him through the wide entrance. They wound through the massive cavern as the ceiling pitched forward, but as the cavern grew smaller, the Governor turned, gesturing to a small, makeshift wall surrounded by crates, "I'm afraid we don't go past here. We store some of the seasonal crops that require darkness to maintain their freshness here, but when the Royal Adjutant first created this sanctuary, we lost a few good men in the caves beyond this cavern – there are just too many passages, and we don't have the resources or maps to find them. Their bodies are out there, somewhere, sadly. To prevent future mishaps, we have blocked off the connected caves – not only to prevent the loss of adventurous adults but for the safety of our curious children too."

The Governor gestured toward the caves beyond the little wall, leaning forward, "I have to tell you that some people don't like what it _feels_ like down here, either. The cavern has inspired more than a few ghost stories. In fact," the Governor looked a little sheepish, "I'll leave you here to explore, if you like."

With that, the Governor departed, leaving G'Kar and Talia alone in the depths of the cavern.

"How close do you need to be, Ms. Winters?" G'Kar asked his companion.

"As close as possible," Talia told him. "The caverns interfere with my ability to sense anyone's presence, let alone their thoughts."

G'Kar turned toward the makeshift wall, giving Talia a boost over it before he scaled it, easily pulling himself over it before jumping to the ground next to Talia.

Switching on lights they had brought for the purpose, the duo crept deeper and deeper into the dark cavern, following its winding curves into the crust of Centauri Prime.

The duo spent several hours exploring the caves with little success until, at last, G'Kar's flashlight fell on familiar writing – the same writing he had encountered on Seti IV. As his eyes scanned the foreign writing, he felt Talia Winters stumble back hard against him.

"Quickly," Talia nodded back toward the way they came. "Before it is too late . . . ."

"Perhaps we should—"

"—No," Talia said intently, "a collective consciousness is very powerful. If they sense me . . . . We need to go _. Now._ "

Taking one last look at the familiar yet foreign lettering, G'Kar obliged the telepath and they quickly retraced their path to the surface in silence.

When they finally saw the sunlight of Centauri Prime, Talia turned to G'Kar, an intensity evident in her eyes. "They're here."

"Yes, I recognized the writing on the cave walls," G'Kar said. "How many are on Centauri Prime?"

Talia could hardly bring herself to answer. "Too many," she whispered. "Their network – it was overwhelming. There must be thousands of Drakh who have made a home underneath Centauri Prime. I couldn't glean too much without alerting them of my scan, but they feel safe here. They have been here for years."

G'Kar straightened, his face serious as he thought over the events of the past decade and a half. "Then Mollari knows? He made a pact with them?"

Talia shook her head, "I don't know. I could only get a surface scan without alerting them."

A flicker of emotion surged through G'Kar's chest and his remaining eye blazed with anger as he remembered the shadow technology that Mollari had dismissed so easily years ago when President Sheridan had asked him about it. "I don't understand" he said. "After everything that happened . . . ."

Talia interrupted G'Kar's thoughts with a soft touch on his gauntlets. "I did sense their fear of outsiders, but I also sensed dominance, security, and satisfaction."

"Dominance?" G'Kar stared at Talia. He took a step closer, "How did they come to be here?" he asked in a guarded tone.

"I don't know," Talia repeated, "I couldn't risk alerting them."

"We must go back and find out more," G'Kar said, determined.

"Their unified telepathic abilities are too powerful." Talia replied. "I am lucky they didn't sense me the first time. It was only my enhanced telepathic powers that kept them from sensing me in the first place and allowed me to detect them at a distance. I don't think I will be able to glean anything else without them knowing that I am scanning them. And once they sense me . . . or you . . . ." Her voice trailed off.

G'Kar curled a lip in anger and frustration before making up his mind. "We must alert the Alliance at once, Ms. Winters. You will return with Ja'Tok to inform President Sheridan. President Sheridan knows you – and he _will_ believe you - he must know about this threat to the Alliance. I will stay here to gather further intelligence."

Talia stepped back, "I thought the purpose of your mission was to determine if the Drakh were on Centauri Prime. Now we know – they are here. It is very dangerous for you to stay here - what more can you possibly do here?"

G'Kar did not respond for some time. But at last, he said, "It is not enough to know that the Drakh are here – we must understand the Drakh's endgame – it is the only way we can prepare for it." He gazed solemnly at Talia. "I must speak to Mollari – he is the only man who could have granted the Drakh sanctuary. And he is the only man who can shed any light on why the Centauri are harboring the Drakh."

"As I recall, you two were usually at each other's throats. You think he'll welcome you – of all people - with open arms after he outlawed aliens on Centauri Prime?"

G'Kar sighed. "It is true that we were at each other's throats while you were on the station, but we came to a mutual understanding of sorts after you left. The short version is to simply say yes, I believe he will see me. The last time I saw him, he helped me escape unharmed from Centauri Prime, and he risked his own life in doing so. And he owes me - I have saved his life as well."

Talia looked at him oddly, "People change, G'Kar. He's killing telepaths and aliens - not to mention that bombing on Babylon 5. It might not be his life that needs saving this time - it might be his soul."

Talia gazed at G'Kar, and he sensed she might be scanning him, but after a moment, she merely said, "A Narn will stick out on Centauri Prime, you know?"

"Are you offering to shave your head and go in my place, Ms. Winters?" A smirk appeared on G'Kar's face.

"I am sure you have some way of bypassing Centauri security worked out that doesn't involve me." Talia said, dismissing G'Kar's suggestion. "Anyway, although it isn't sacrificing my hair for the cause, I _will_ ensure President Sheridan is informed. And I will pray for your safe return."

G'Kar nodded with satisfaction, "Your assistance will not go unnoticed - you will have a home on Narn anytime you wish one. Thank you, Ms. Winters, for agreeing to come here. Now, it may be impossible for me to get any communications out of Centauri Prime until I leave, so I will be counting on you to alert the Sheridan and the Alliance about what we have found. It is imperative - for all of us - that he knows what is going on here." G'Kar jerked his head toward the entrance, "Now, let's get you back to the flyer before it leaves."

* * *

Sheridan slammed his fist on his desk. "Are you telling me the Plansiar system got hit too?" he demanded from the aide that had delivered the information.

"Yes, sir."

"We finally get confirmation that the Kylias sector was targeted by unidentified raiders, and now the Plansiar system?" He ground his teeth in frustration. He dismissed the aide, getting up and pacing his office.

Finally, he sat down again. "Damned lucky," he said. "Pretty damned lucky of them to hit both of these locations," he growled. He sat back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he slowly shook his head.

* * *

Shortly after they were in route to their destination, Londo stood and announced that he was going to retire to the sleeper suite to rest before they arrived at Vir's estate. It has been a short morning, but it had already taken its toll on him. Senna accompanied Londo to the sleeper suite of the royal carriage, noticing his exhaustion as he made his way through the narrow passageway.

Once they arrived at the sleeper suite, Londo sat down on the bed, his face drawn and weary.

Hoping that it would cheer him, Senna brought Londo a small pad, flipping it on. "I thought you'd like to see the well wishes you've received." She swiped through a myriad of messages to show him how many there were.

Londo glanced over her shoulder at the pad. "Oh?" he scanned the names as she handed it to him.

Senna watched his face flicker with emotion as he read through the names, snorting at a few and scoffing at others.

"Are there any from off world?" he asked as he flipped through the messages.

Senna took the pad back from him, typing in a few search terms, and a new list of messages appeared. "These are from off world," she told him as she handed him the pad.

Senna watched Londo scan through the well wishes and thought about his question for a moment, "Do you miss it - being off world? You were in the diplomatic corps for such a long time."

Londo nodded, still flipping through the list of messages, clearly looking for something specific. "There is no place like Centauri Prime - but there is nothing that helps you appreciate home like being away from it." He looked up, "Did I ever tell you that my family discovered Earth. It was, in fact, why I was appointed to be an ambassador there and later to Babylon 5." He shook his head. "It is an unfortunate effect of my position that I have no been back there in so long." He reached the end of the messages she had brought up and he handed the list back, a frown on his face. "There is nothing from the President of the Alliance?" he asked, "or Minbar or the Narn Regime?"

"Oh?" Senna flipped through the pad again. "You mean the official communiqués? Yes, there are some brief official messages – there was one sent on behalf of the Alliance . . . it was urging stability in the Centauri sphere of power," she said, her voice trailing off as she remembered how impersonal the message was.

Londo took the pad back, reading through the brief, detached diplomatic messages before he shook his head, obviously dissatisfied. "There was nothing from President Sheridan or Entil'Zha Delenn or Ambassador G'Kar?" he asked quietly.

"I haven't seen anything," Senna replied. "Yet," she added as she saw the disappointment on his face.

"No," Londo sighed, "why would there be?" He stared out the window of his carriage before turning back to her and patting her on the knee with a smile. "You will wake me when we arrive at Vir's estate, yes?"

"Of course," she returned his smile.

"Senna," he stopped her just as she was exiting the sleeper car.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Tell me – is something troubling you?" he looked at her with concern. "You have seemed . . . upset . . . since we left the palace."

"Just your condition," she smiled weakly as her stomach turned as she thought of the events that morning.

Londo looked at her intently, "It is nothing to do with Vir, then?"

Senna's eyes widened with surprise. "No – I . . . how did you know about Vir?"

Londo chuckled, his serious mood momentarily disappearing. "I am the Emperor – of course I know these things." Londo's eyes narrowed, "He has not _displeased_ you, has he?"

"No," Senna said quickly. "Vir has done nothing wrong." She glanced back at Londo, astounded. Vir had been terrified of telling Londo about their relationship, and Senna had never been sure that Londo wouldn't exercise his right to turn down the match. "Then, you do not _disapprove_?"

"Why would I disapprove?" Londo asked. "Although," he pursed his lips in dissatisfaction, "he does come from a rather unimpressive family." Londo squinted at the thought of Vir's relatives. "It is not a fatal blow, though," he continued thoughtfully. "Vir has risen above his insignificant family. And he has more of a spine than anyone in the royal court gives him credit for," he leaned forward. "Besides us. And Vir is the only one who seems to get anything of importance done for me, and he is able to do it because no one questions his motives - he does not lust for position, power, or wealth. And having shunned these things, he has obtained them all."

Senna cast her eyes to the plush carpet, thinking of how overjoyed she would have been to have this conversation only yesterday. But now, everything was lost.

"If it is not Vir," Londo said gently, "that is troubling you, then what is it, Senna?"

"I'm just worried about you, Papa," she repeated softly.

Londo watched her closely, unconvinced, before responding. "Timov mentioned that you should not leave my side until I return to the palace. I suspect it will give Timov some peace of mind to have someone spying on me for her. And it will cheer me as well."

Senna's face brightened significantly. She knew that the Empress had planted the seed in Londo's mind to protect her from returning to Toscanelli before Londo resumed his duties, and Londo's offer lightened her hearts significantly. "Perhaps she wants to ensure you do not return with a beard."

Londo snorted as he stroked his chin, "It does seem to annoy her considerably. Timov has well-defined boundaries of behavior, and she does not like anyone to cross them. But I find it is my duty to remind her that not everyone can live up to such expectations."

"Tempting fate twice in two weeks, Papa? I do not know if the gods will rescue you again."

Londo chuckled. "You are right - it would be better for my health if I did not tempt her – so, I will have it seen to in short order. And you," he gazed at his charge. "I have missed you, Senna."

"You have kept my public schedule very busy," she replied gently. "Otherwise I would have returned to the palace long ago to see you."

"Yes," he agreed. "I did that because . . . eh . . . ." He put a hand to his temple as his brow furrowed in confusion. "Your service was for the good of the country, anyway," he said, shaking off his memory lapse. "But perhaps when I return to the palace, you will take a break from your travels so that I may see you more. Timov wants me to invite the Deradis to the palace, and they will need someone to look after them while they are there."

"I would like that, Papa," she said with a smile. Seeing that his energy was flagging and cognizant that the Royal Physician had been nervously pacing the Royal Carriage since they had left the hospital, she took her leave to let him rest.

* * *

After a full complement of aliens had been loaded onto the flyer, and Talia had buckled herself in, Ja'Tok piloted the vessel carefully into the atmosphere. As they ascended, the aliens onboard cheered, relieved that their nightmare on Centauri Prime had finally ended.

"Where will you go?" Talia asked an Abbai woman strapped in near her.

"Home," the woman replied with a smile. "It's been a long time."

Talia returned the woman's smiled. Even without scanning anyone, she could feel the palpable warmth and energy of the aliens onboard as their departed the planet that had become their nightmare for their long-awaited freedom.

* * *

A Ministry of Defense officer glanced at the flight board again. No scheduled interstellar flights were inbound or outbound in the area, and normally, the low lying flights were not tracked through the Ministry's office. But out of boredom, the officer had been scanning other grids, and a small vessel had caught the officer's eye. He watched the vessel's vertical ascension with puzzlement. He flipped on a comm console, "I've got an unscheduled flight out of grid trident-5-alpha," he said slowly, calculating the vessel's flight path.

At the message, his commanding officer walked over to review the flight. Opening a communications channel, the commanding officer issued a stern order, commanding the vessel to identify itself, but the unidentified vessel continued its ascent through Centauri space, intent on departing the atmosphere.

The commanding officer issued the command again before he ordered a visual on the vessel through the Defense Ministry's satellites. As soon as the image of an older flyer appeared, devoid of the required Centauri patrol flights that now accompanied every flight inbound or outbound through the blockade, the Defense Ministry ran the identifiers of the vessel against their database of raiders and unlicensed ships. Within a few moments, the commanding officer knew that the vessel had not been authorized through any official channels.

"It looks like they are making a run for it, sir" the officer informed his superior, nervousness shaking his tone.

The commanding officer stared at the screen, gritting his teeth with annoyance. "Bring 'em down," he said quietly.

"Acquiring targeting guidance . . . firing," the officer flipped open a firing console, turning the defense grid's firepower against the vessel.

The commanding officer raised his bushy brows. "Condition of the vessel?"

"Destroyed," the Centauri officer confirmed.

The commanding officer shook his head in disgust. "One of these days, those blockade runners are gonna learn."

* * *

For the first time in nearly two decades, the soul of Talia Winters was at peace in the universe as her body returned to stardust, and the haunting nightmares she had endured at the hands of the Psi Corps were finally silenced.

And unbeknownst to G'Kar, Talia's death left him quite alone on Centauri Prime, and it deprived President Sheridan of the knowledge that could yet save millions of lives.


	32. Revelations

The Governor walked through Vir's estate with a clipped step that belayed his tenseness. Briskly, he pointed to a group of aliens and ordered them to join the crowd that was forming on the far side of the compound.

"Get any stragglers," he commanded a nearby Drazi. "And bring them here. Everyone must be moved here - quickly."

The Drazi nodded with a growl, glancing sideways at G'Kar as he passed by.

G'Kar watched the Drazi disappear into the distance as the Colony's population descended on their position. Since shortly after Ja'Tok's vessel left, the entire colony had been on edge. _Something_ , G'Kar thought, _wasn't quite right_.

Grabbing the nearest human's arm, he asked, "What's going on?"

"You haven't heard?" the human replied, wide-eyed. "They say . . . they say the royal motorcade has been spotted near here."

"Do you mean to say," G'Kar asked incredulously, "that a member of the Royal Court is coming _here_?"

The human shook his head vigorously, fear stretching his cheeks taunt, "No – not _a_ member of the Royal Court – they say they have sighted the Emperor's personal carriage."

G'Kar rocked back on his heels, studying the human for a moment. "I need to see him," he said under his breath.

The human's eyes grew even wider, "See him? You don't understand - if we are found . . . we will all be killed."

"No _you_ don't understand," G'Kar's eyes blazed. "It is imperative that I see the Emperor. It could save a great many lives."

G'Kar felt a hand grasping his shoulder, and he turned to find the Colony's Governor behind him.

"Don't believe Carter's rumors about the royal motorcade," the Governor stared at the human with a warning before he turned to G'Kar. He jerked his head for the Narn to follow him. "If you'll come with me . . . ."

G'Kar fell into step behind the Governor, following him a few paces until the Governor stopped abruptly and faced him. "I understand you have some familiarity with the Emperor," he said in a whisper.

G'Kar studied the Governor's face for a moment before responding. "I have known Mollari for many years – I knew him before he became Emperor," the Narn replied.

The Governor contemplated this statement with a conflicted look.

"I have some matters of the utmost urgency to speak with him about," G'Kar continued.

The Governor drew closer, his voice quieter. "I've got to get this civilian population to safety. A population this size isn't easy to hide, even in the forest, and I've got less than an hour to get everyone hidden before the royal motorcade is in the vicinity. We don't know what the Emperor will do if he finds these people here, but we can guess the outcome. His presence puts everyone here in jeopardy."

"I _need_ to see him," G'Kar growled. "It is a matter of interstellar urgency – and it involves all the races represented here – and others," G'Kar gestured toward the various alien species gathering nearby.

"I don't care what it is or how important or who is involved," the Governor frowned. "You are aware that the Centauri government has marked aliens on Centauri Prime for death sentences if they are found? And that man is the head of the government? I won't let anyone jeopardize the safety of these people. They are my responsibility, and _this isn't a request_."

G'Kar's eyes narrowed just before his ears detected the crunch of footsteps behind him. Sensing danger, his muscles bunched to whirl and face the threat, but before he was able to turn around, a rock crashed against his skull, sending him sprawling to the ground, blood ebbing from the wound in his skull.

Staring at the figure of the inert Narn crumpled on the ground and bleeding, the Governor winced, nodding to the telepath who had appeared behind G'Kar. "Take him to the others, and make sure he is bound so that he cannot get away. He mustn't leave your sight - and quickly, we don't have much time before the Emperor arrives."

* * *

Vir and Senna huddled briefly, conferring over the situation Londo had suddenly thrust them into.

"It isn't safe if he enters my estate, not for anyone," Vir told Senna with a worried glance. "We just can't take the chance. Even if Londo doesn't order the aliens killed himself, the word would get out from his guards and the others in the motorcade. The Interior Ministry would open an inquiry, and it wouldn't end well."

"You can produce legal slave papers for them all, though," Senna replied.

Vir shook his head, "Not the telepaths. And if they find out about the telepaths, they will seize everything - and everyone - involved."

"What can we do?" Senna asked worriedly.

"I have an idea," Vir said, "that may work depending on Londo's mood," Vir said grimly before detailing the rest of his idea.

Senna agreed to the plan, and changing the subject, she casually revealed that Londo knew of their relationship.

"He _does_?" Vir gasped in shock. "And he – he didn't protest . . . ?"

"He must have had some time to get over the shock because he was pretty calm about the whole thing," Senna shook her head.

"Then you could make your selection official, and I could ask him to approve our marriage, and-" Vir began excitedly.

"-No," Senna said abruptly. "I mean, it's not a good time - with his condition right now – we should talk about it later."

"All right," Vir said, confused by her reticence.

"So let's go over this again," she suggested, turning back to their plan to keep Londo from Vir's estate.

Together, they confirmed the details of the plan, and when they were finished, Vir headed toward the carriage's cockpit to change the landing coordinates.

* * *

Londo awoke and rose, emerging to find Senna resting lightly next to the door of the royal carriage's sleeping quarters. "Senna?" he woke her with a hand upon her shoulder.

"Papa!" she rose quickly to greet him.

Glancing at the light streaming through the windows, he asked, "We got here earlier than I expected."

"No, Papa," Senna told him delicately, "that was yesterday."

"Yesterday?" he asked with confusion. "I thought you would waken me when we arrived?"

"I know," she glanced down the carriage's narrow hall, "I didn't want to interrupt your sleep – the doctors were clear that you needed your rest," she added nervously. "And it must have been true or you wouldn't have slept this long."

"Yes, all right," Londo put an arm around her, "I can see that you are looking out for me. But let us not waste any more time – I want to see Vir's estate. Someone told me," he furrowed his brow slightly, "some time ago that Vir was acquiring a large number of slaves, so he must have quite the estate." Londo narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to remember more, but at last, he simply shook his head and smiled.

Senna's eyes widened nervously at his remark just as she saw Vir appear in the vessel's narrow hallway, and she waved at him to join them.

"It's all . . . eh . . . a bit of a blur now," Londo again struggled to remember the circumstances. "My memory," he muttered, "is not what it used to be, I'm afraid."

Londo nodded to the guards, who unfurled the carriage's ramp, allowing him to descend, Senna and Vir trailing him.

As he emerged into the brisk air, Londo gasped, "Vir," as he put a hand to his chest.

Senna and Vir exchanged worried glances as they both hastily reached out to steady Londo. But as they did so, they noticed his hearts weren't giving him problems; he was merely overcome by the sight of the forested mountains plunging into clay-lined canyons. "This?" he said. "This is where you have chosen to make your principal residence? You are a fortunate man, Vir." He gazed as the rainbow of colors running through the sheer clay bluffs that dropped away from the forest guarded by the mountains that loomed overhead. After a moment, he paused, baffled, before he withdrew his arm and gestured in the distance. "But where is the house?"

Vir straightened, "I – I should have told you earlier, Londo, but they are in the initial phases of clearing the land. It's pretty steep up here, and we are replanting the _Prehartha_ trees rather than cutting them down. Since they are sacred to three of our gods, I thought cutting them down would be a bad omen."

"I didn't want to disappoint you," Vir continued, "and I knew you'd been wanting to see it – but there isn't anywhere suitable to host the royal entourage. I'm sorry," Vir's head dropped in apology.

Londo grunted in acknowledgement as he surveyed the land further. Gazing down the toward the foothills, he motioned in their direction. "And you did not think to build in a more suitable place such as down there? The territory you acquired is quite large, yes?"

Vir's eyes darted to Senna and back to Londo, "I thought a lot about where to build, and I did consider building there, but the view here is going to be worth the wait."

Londo turned to Vir with a disappointed sigh, "Is there not a village near here where we could find accommodations?"

Vir shook his head, "It is too small, Londo. It cannot service the amount of people in the royal entourage, and frankly, it couldn't offer anything near the standards required by your office."

Londo stared at Vir in annoyance. "An emperor should not be caged in the palace as I have been these past few years. An emperor should be among the people – including those who live in the smaller villages."

"No, Londo," Vir stopped him gently, "I don't mean you _shouldn't_ go to such places, but that they could never afford what it would cost to host a royal visit."

Londo's gaze returned to the hillside for a moment before he pulled Vir out of earshot of anyone else as he gestured down the mountain. In a low tone laced with warning, he addressed Cotto. "You are lying, Vir, and I would like to know why."

Vir froze in terror, unable to respond to Londo's accusation.

* * *

G'Kar awoke to find himself surrounded by armed Centauri. Telepaths had every possible escape route covered with firearms.

" _Now_ Centauri Prime feels familiar," G'Kar sighed as he felt the wound on his skull surrounded by dried blood. He rubbed the tender area before pulling himself to a standing position.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, but there was no response from the telepaths.

"I would like to see the Governor immediately," he added, but again, there was only silence in reply.

"Has the Emperor arrived?" he stared at the Centauri faces surrounding him.

"We're not _all_ telepaths," he growled, glaring at the silent telepaths who refused to answer his questions. At last, he sat back down under the shade of nearby tree and resting his head against it, letting his eyes drift closed with an annoyed huff.

* * *

Vir's mouth dropped open as Londo questioned him, but as quickly as Londo had taken him by surprise, his mouth snapped shut again.

"Well . . . um . . ." he fought for a plausible explanation. "Senna," he blurted out at last.

"What are you babbling on about, Vir?" Londo was beginning to lose his patience.

"It's a surprise – for Senna," Vir's words became stronger. "I can't take you down there because she's accompanying you, and I don't want her to see it until it is done. And – and," Vir forced himself to maintain eye contact with Londo, but all of a sudden, driven by the knowledge that Londo already knew of his relationship with Senna, Vir's words tumbled out. "I'm in love with her, and I want to marry her, but I knew you wouldn't let her marry anyone without a proper estate, and it _is_ being built – down where you said – but if you go down there, then Senna will see the surprise, and it's just that I've been planning it for so long, and . . . ."

Londo snorted and silenced Vir with a raised palm. "This is not the proper way to ask for her hand in marriage, Vir, but I am glad to hear it at last _from you_. I was beginning to think your spine was made of _glyrym_ jelly with respect to this matter." He put an arm around Vir's shoulder, "Now, if it is to be a surprise for Senna, you were right to bring the motorcade here where we cannot see the progress, but perhaps one day soon, when it is finished, we will return and see it, yes?"

Vir breathed a sigh of relief, "Of course, Londo. One day soon."

"Good," Londo patted him on the back amicably and turned around, calling to Senna. "I'm afraid there are no suitable accommodations here, Senna, so I will direct the pilots to take us to the Sea Palace. I have been wanting to see it since Timov renovated it. A better idea than camping in the mountains, yes?"

"Actually Londo," Vir sheepishly gestured back toward the estate, "I have a few things to inspect here if you don't need me . . . ."

Londo's brows furrowed at Vir's words, and his expression looked wounded, but before he could say anything, Senna caught Londo's arm and turned back to address Vir. "Papa always needs you Vir, especially now when he isn't feeling well, but this will give him some quality time together with me – something we haven't had in a few years. That and you," she faced Londo, "aren't supposed to be working – so it will give Vir a few days off as well."

Londo gazed at Senna softly and smiled, "Yes, all right."

"Besides," Senna added, "the Empress sent a gift to keep you busy."

"A gift?" Londo was intrigued. "Timov sent a gift? What sort of gift? I'm curious to know," he announced loudly, "what my wife possibly thinks will 'keep me busy.'"

To his surprise, six women descended from a carriage accompanying the motorcade. The line of women demurely bowed their heads before the Emperor, waiting to be introduced.

Ilyia approached Londo and pointed them out one by one, each a representative of a region of the Great Plain of Centauri Prime. "Majesty," Ilyia began, pointing to the first woman, "Mako's services are a gift of the northwest region. She is a stylist sought throughout the region. I have been told," she added dryly, "she is an excellent barber as well."

Stroking his chin, Londo replied, "I see that my wife has fired the next volley in our disagreement over my chin, but she has already lost the war because I decided to take care of it already."

"Mako would be more than happy to ensure your shave continues to be a close one, Majesty," Ilyia replied with a slight smile.

"I suspect she uses a straight razor," Londo said lightly.

"You may be assured that she has been cleared by the security services," Ilyia added.

Londo grunted before turning to the next woman, "And this lovely young woman?" he asked.

"Tryna, from the northcentral region, Majesty. She is, like yourself, a gifted storyteller. She is also an accomplished historian."

"Delightful," Londo kissed the woman's hand. "A cultured woman from the most cultured region of our Republic," he said, referring to his own home.

"And this," Ilyia continued down the line, "is Vensai, from the northeast region. She plays the traditional Centauri _lykda_.

"Exquisite," Londo smiled at the woman. "The _lykda_ are disappearing from Centauri Prime, and to listen to a well-played _lykda_ is like listening to the gods."

"This is Sabatto," Ilyia gestured toward the next woman. "She is from the southwest region, and she is a _henson_ masseuse."

"Perhaps Timov does not wish me to return to the palace at all," Londo chuckled.

"Ibasalio is from the southcentral region of the Great Plain. She is a master of the spa and will ensure Your Majesty makes the most of the regional baths in Porto."

"I have not had the pleasure of enjoying a traditional Centauri bath in some time," Londo said, "Perhaps because I have not had an entire day to devote to the project," Londo nodded, his eyes dancing.

Moving down the line, Ilyia said, "Trazela is from the southeast region. She is trained in all the arts of a Centauri hostess."

" _All_ the arts?" Londo said with a mischievous smile.

"All the arts," Ilyia said firmly, "that Your Majesty is medically cleared to partake in."

Londo glanced sideways at his wife's chief of staff with a chagrined look before his gaze returned to the row of women. "If I didn't know better, I would think my wife was trying to distract me from pressing affairs of state." He contemplated this for a moment before addressing the women, "What is your status?"

"They are all free women, Majesty, gifts of their respective regions while you recuperate," Ilyria responded on their behalf.

"I see," Londo said serenely, "then I look forward to making their acquaintance in Porto." He dismissed them with a wave and turned to Vir. "It is some sort of a test," he narrowed his eyes. "Timov expects that I will fail it," Londo grasped Vir's shoulders momentarily. "I won't let her down," he said brightly, chuckling.

Sighing happily, he added, "Now, Porto is waiting, so I will see you when you have taken care of your business here, yes?"

Vir nodded, "Yes, of course, Londo. As soon as possible."

Senna drew Londo's arm closer to her as he bid goodbye to Vir, and she guided Londo back up the ramp to the carriage. She glanced back at Vir with relief in her eyes before the motorcade turned and departed for the Sea Palace.

* * *

"Get the Narn," the Governor instructed the telepaths guarding him as he motioned to G'Kar to follow him.

G'Kar scrambled to his feet. He sprang up even though his hands were bound together to prevent him from escaping, and he followed the Mars Colony human walking in front of him.

The Governor led G'Kar to the entrance of a makeshift structure, and G'Kar detected two figures inside talking near a large table.

"Royal Adjutant," the Governor addressed one of the figures as he swept his arm toward G'Kar.

"One moment, General," Vir turned in the midst of his conversation and, horrified, saw G'Kar still bound.

"Release him at once," Vir instructed.

"Your Grace," the Governor protested, "the Narn has made his intentions to alert the Emperor of our whereabouts clear."

"Release him," Vir said, more insistently, but he closed the distance quickly and began to untie the Narn himself. "If you don't trust his word, then trust mine – G'Kar would not betray an effort to keep these people from harm." Done untying G'Kar, Vir turned to him. "I deeply apologize, Ambassador."

G'kar rubbed his wrists. "And I was _just_ beginning to feel at home again on Centauri Prime surrounded by Centauri with guns pointed at my head."

The Governor crossed his arms grumpily as he watched the Narn being unbound, but Vir dismissed him with a nod, and G'Kar found himself alone with Vir and the stranger.

"Why have you come here, Ambassador?" Vir asked.

"To investigate a few rumors," G'Kar answered. "Unfortunately, I find that they are all true," he said with irritation.

Vir glanced at the aliens gathered outside. "We are doing what we can," he said in a quiet voice.

G'Kar nodded but decided to confront Vir over the Drakh alliance, "I see that. You have helped my people in the past, and now you are helping these people. It is commendable, but it isn't the heart of the problem, is it?"

Vir stared at G'Kar with a look of dread, "How did you find out?" he whispered.

"The Narn Regime has its sources," G'Kar said aloofly.

Vir stared at the floor. "It's true – we think Londo is being affected by some sort of madness."

G'Kar leaned in. "Madness?" he said in disbelief before recovering himself.

"I knew it would be a matter of time before the other nations began to figure it out as well," Vir said sadly. "If the other governments perceive him as an unstable threat," Vir turned toward the other Centauri in the room, "it may only be a matter of time before an assassination attempt succeeds." Vir looked sharply back at G'Kar, "You're not here to – to . . . ."

G'Kar shook his head as he considered these new details, "To kill Mollari? No, I'm not here to arrange an assassination, but I can tell you, after the raids and the bombing of Babylon 5, the idea crossed the planning tables of several governments."

"I knew it," Vir shook his head. "And the funny thing is, of all the things he's done, he's blamed for the Babylon 5 bombing, but I _know_ he didn't have anything to do with it. At least blame him for the orders he _has_ given."

"Perhaps we could compare notes," G'Kar urged strategically. "What brought you to the conclusion he was suffering from this illness?"

Vir listed off reasons that had brought him to that conclusion, including the appeal to Abraham Lincolni after the Emperor had ordered a death sentence to be applied to any aliens without slave papers, but Vir omitted any mention of the bombs buried under Centauri Prime.

G'Kar took in this new information silently, but he noticed the other Centauri had strategically stationed himself between G'Kar and the table. G'Kar motioned toward it, "Did I interrupt you from doing something?"

The other Centauri spoke at last, "Nothing of importance."

"G'Kar," Vir gestured toward the other man. "This is Phylakios, head of the Empress's royal guard."

The man moved closer, a clear limp in his stride, but he stopped short before the Narn and offered a brisk bow.

G'Kar's hairless brows rose in interest as he brought his fists to his chest in the traditional Narn salute. "The Empress?"

"She is working with us to help protect the population," Vir disclosed solemnly.

Believing that Vir was covering up the Drakh alliance, G'Kar folded his arms impatiently. "And yet, you are hiding something, Vir Cotto," G'Kar pressed him, trying to force Vir to admit that the Drakh were in league with the Centauri. "We both know what it is – why don't you admit it?"

Vir stared at him again before sweeping his hand toward the table behind him. "Then you know about the bombs?"

"Bombs?" G'Kar glanced at Vir.

Phylakios stepped aside, and G"kar strode up to the table, examining the map on it. "These are locations of bombs?" he stared at the multitude of sites marked on the map.

Vir bit his lip nodding. "He's sick, G'Kar. He gave us the site locations but these bombs were placed at the heart of civilian locations."

G'Kar turned to Vir, "Then you really don't know?"

"Know what?" Vir asked.

"About the Drakh living on Centauri Prime," G'Kar responded, watching closely as Vir's face drained of color in shock and horror.

G'Kar quickly discussed his discovery, and as he watched the horrified faces of Cotto and Phylakios, he knew that they had not known.

After a lengthy discussion, Vir said quietly, "If the Drakh are controlling the bombs we have identified, Londo's hands are tied. He won't do anything against them if they are holding the civilian population hostage. We have to focus on dismantling the bombs before we can do anything else."

"And any raids on the Drakh's underground lair," G'Kar pointed out, "will immediately alert the Drakh Entire. You will only have one shot at a surprise attack against them."

Phylakios, having been quiet the entire meeting, tapped his gloved finger on the map. "If we dismantle the bombs, we could move them into the cave system and link them for a coordinated explosion."

G'Kar and Vir nodded their approval.

"We haven't got much time," Vir said. "The Empress has arranged access to all of the bomb sites, but it may be revoked when Londo returns to the Palace. And she may not be safe herself." He glanced at Phylakios and G'Kar. "She did relay to both Senna and Ilyia, her chief of staff, that something wasn't right at the palace." Vir thought in silence a moment before asking, "And what about Londo?"

"We are still in the dark about a number of things - how the Drakh are exercising power over him, for one. There may be nothing we can do for him," G'Kar replied darkly. "You should be prepared for that possibility."

Vir's shoulders slumped, but he nodded slowly, still in shock by the magnitude of G'Kar's announcement. "Londo has done a lot of things that have angered me," Vir admitted. "But I know one thing for certain - he would want us to save the civilian population, no matter what the cost to himself. I know because I saw him do it when the Vorlons were on our doorstep." Vir's voice dropped to a whisper as he thought back to the events of the Shadow War, "He asked me to kill him to save our planet."

G'Kar and Phylakios stared at Vir, mouths agape at his revelation.

"Anyway," Vir straightened, shaking off the memory, "It looks like we have a lot to do."

"Then we should get started," G'Kar recovered himself and tapped the map. "We have a lot of work ahead of us if we are to dismantle the bombs while access is assured to these points."


	33. Roll Tide

The royal motorcade made its way to the Sea Palace, where the baggage handlers unloaded carts of baggage, and throngs of courtiers happily filled the palace's grounds until it was swimming in people.

In the midst of the bustling throng, Londo received local visitors and dignitaries that came to wish him their regards. When he was worn out from the visitors, he would retire to quietly listen to Tryna spin tales in front of the palace's grand fireplace or enjoy the other services of the young women sent to represent the different regions of the Great Plain of Centauri Prime.

Soon after he arrived to the Sea Palace, a courtier approached him. "The Minister of Information is here to see you, Majesty," the courtier announced as the new figure approached.

"Ah, the Minister of _Propaganda_ ," Londo replied, less loudly and with less vigor than usual.

The Minister bowed deeply, hiding a grimace at the title Londo bestowed upon him, "I have some matters for your approval, Majesty,"

"You are going to give me a headache," Londo said with annoyance.

"Majesty, I apologize? . . ." the Minister looked around, confused.

"Tell me," Londo said. "Did you happen to confer with my wife before you came here?"

"No, Majesty," the minister replied.

"As I thought," Londo shook a finger at him. "And you have met my wife?"

"Of course, Majesty. She runs the Cabinet meetings with precision."

Londo narrowed his eyes, "And have you ever been on the receiving end of her displeasure?"

"As you know I'm newly appointed, Majesty, so I suppose I have not . . . " the Minister's expression faltered at the line of questioning.

"You would know if you had been!" Londo told him. "Tell me - are you married, Minister?" he asked, seeming to change the subject.

"Yes, Majesty – I have four wives."

"Happily married to all of them, I suppose?"

"Of course, Majesty."

"Uh huh," Londo said with a roll of his eyes. "Not one of them becomes irritated by something you do and then never lets you forget it? They don't remind you at every opportunity of your shortcomings?"

"Well . . . it is _marriage_ , Majesty," the minister chuckled in agreement.

"Yes," Londo said, "and you are causing problems in _mine_. I have placed my wife in charge of the country temporarily. If she finds out my ministers are running back to me, trying to circumvent her authority until I relieve her of her duties, she will never let me hear the end of it. And I can feel the headache that will result from her next communication to me pounding at my temples already. And _you_ are the cause. Do you wish to be the cause of my discomfort, Minister? To be personally responsible for peeling years of my life away from me?"

"No, of course not, Majesty, I just thought that . . . ."

"You are not paid to think – you are paid to publicize what _I_ think. A duty you are currently neglecting. Perhaps your paycheck could be used for a better purpose than being dividing among your happily married wives. Do you think they will remain happy for very long if we put it to some other use?"

The Minister stared at the emperor with wide eyes, unsure of how to answer.

"I thought not," Londo said, irritation still coloring his words. "Now, you will ensure in future that you follow the correct protocol so that my headache does not turn into a migraine, yes?"

"Of course, Majesty," the minister bowed, sensing his dismissal.

"And tell the other ministers as well," Londo added as the minister backed away.

* * *

Daily, Senna reported to Timov on Londo's activities at the Sea Palace. Each day he spent at the Sea Palace seemed to relax him more, but contrary to his usual nature, he had been relatively quiet, devoid of energy, and in a short temper.

"Cousin Andilo came to see him today, and he tried to cheer Londo up. He did a good job until he begged Londo to make him head of House Mollari. I could tell Papa was annoyed to have to deal with house politics while he is supposed to be resting, and he told Andilo that he was excommunicated from House Mollari!"

"I told Andilo that now was not a good time to broach the subject," Timov said with a sigh. "I'll speak to Londo about it when he is in a better mood. It is a good idea, actually, to have Andilo take over. And anyway, Londo is recovering," Timov told Senna. "The fact that he is receiving people is a good sign that he is feeling better. But as his energy returns, so will his propensity to stir up trouble. Do look out for him, Senna. He needs someone to ensure his recovery more than you can know."

* * *

Phylakios leaned over the maps with G'Kar at his side. At Vir's request, G'Kar had agreed to lend his expertise on military strategy, and he consulted with Phylakios on the best alternatives for dismantling the bombs.

"You have teams trained to dismantle them already?"

"Yes," Phylakios straightened, adjusting his imperial uniform. "They have been in training for some time awaiting an opportunity such as this. Without the Royal Adjutant's credentials through the Ministry of Defense, we could never access the facilities long enough to dismantle the bombs, let alone remove them. Now, the Royal Adjutant has secured everything we need. But unfortunately, we still don't have enough teams to dismantle them in less than a week."

"You say Vir Cotto arranged all of this?" G'Kar asked, surprised.

"He has been indispensable," Phylakios said quietly. "Without him, most of these people would be dead."

G'Kar considered this thoughtfully. Changing, the subject, he said, "I have heard the other aliens and telepaths talking about you. Why do they call you the Slave General?"

"A nickname, I suppose," Phylakios replied. "I serve under slave contract to Her Majesty."

G'Kar peered at Phylakios with interest. "You are a _slave_?"

Phylakios nodded his head.

"I know a little about that myself," G'Kar told him. "The plight of my people held as slaves at the hands of your people. I would have thought the Centauri would have given up keeping their own as slaves."

"When people are poor," Phylakios said quietly, leaning over the map again, "there are always rich people who will exploit them."

"Why are you doing all of this for the Empress, then?" G'Kar asked curiously.

Phylakios turned to face G'Kar. "My family incurred a debt it could not repay, and its progeny were placed in slavery. Any money a slave earns must go to pay the slave's contract price, which skyrockets because of interest. And so, it becomes a vicious cycle. I do not fool myself – I am far more lucky than many slaves. I received an education, and my job has allowed me to pay off most of my family's debts. But do not kid yourself, G'Kar, I am still a slave, and there is nothing I would like more than my freedom. These awards," he pointed to the multitude of medals hanging from his chest, "mean nothing. They were given to me in spite of the fact that I cannot command royal troops in battle because of my status as a slave. I cannot earn the one thing I crave – to show my prowess in battle – so I train others to do what is denied to me.

"Once upon a time, a slave could rise to become the Lord High General or the Lord High Admiral of the Centauri forces, but that right was rescinded by the Centaurum over a century and a half ago.

"You ask why I am doing this – I have no choice - I am a slave because my family could not pay their debts, and I am an honorable man who would not break the contact my great-grandfather signed."

"Great-grandfather?" G'Kar asked. "It was that long ago?"

"Yes," Phylakios nodded. "As I said, - the interest skyrockets over time."

Phylakios thought about his reasons for continuing his service to the Empress, even after the attack on the Sea Palace. He had received a severe blow to his hip during the attack, leaving him with a permanent limp. He could have disappeared, and he could have made a new life for his family outside the law, but he had returned, pledging his service again to the woman who held title to his labor. "I suppose," he added reluctantly, "that my position as a slave of the Empress allows me to remind the noble classes that slaves are valuable – not as commodities, but as people. If I make a difference in the future of my people, perhaps the noble classes will realize that again. And I am doing it because I am a _Centauri_ , and regardless of my status, it is my duty to protect the future of my people, even if I bear the burden of my class status."

"And maybe influence the future of the Crown's policies?" G'Kar suggested.

Phylakios shrugged. "I am a Centauri, after all."

"At least the Narn may say that we suffered together during the Centauri occupation," G'Kar said thoughtfully. "It has bonded us closer together in pursuit of a better future for our country. But you – you are divided amongst yourselves." Seeing Phylakios's drawn expression, G'Kar put a reassuring gloved hand on his shoulder. "But the more of you that I get to know, the more I am convinced that there may be hope for your race after all."

"Coming from the Narn who defied the mad Emperor Cartagia, that is a compliment," Phylakios bowed.

"Let me be clear - not all of you," G'Kar added. "But at least a few." G'Kar turned back to the planning maps, "When will the first teams start dismantling the bombs according to this time table we have arranged?"

"It has already begun," Phylakios said solemnly.

* * *

Timov found herself in the midst of several stacks of papers on Londo's desk. Aides flitted in and out, bringing new stacks of papers for her approval.

She had found Londo's paperwork regarding the Narn remains found in the palace dungeon, and she wondered why Londo had not yet authorized them to be returned to the Narn Regime. She called Plancho and instructed him to use their couriers to discreetly return the remains. Nodding, Plancho walked out but immediately ran back into her office. "The Emperor . . . ."

Timov sighed before waving at Plancho, "Put him through before he starts firing people," she instructed.

Plancho ran back out to relay the incoming transmission.

Londo's image flickered on Timov's monitor. "I hope you aren't bored," he said amicably as he gestured toward the stacks of documents cluttering her desk.

"Just a little light reading," she said.

Londo watched her closely before responding, "How is everything there? Surviving?"

"I am surviving, yes," Timov replied.

"Not you," a smiled curled Londo's mouth. "The staff? Are they surviving _you_?"

Irritation piqued Timov's expression, and as she sat down, she put two annoyed fingers to her temple, resting her head lightly on them. "You have called me no less than two dozen times since you left. How am I meant to get anything done? I do not need you to hold my hand while you are recovering," she told him pointedly.

Londo deflated, and hurt marred his face. "Perhaps it isn't that I am holding your hand – perhaps I miss you."

Timov blinked at his admission, and she softened. "I'm sorry, Londo, it has been a difficult time since your heart attack." She pushed aside the papers on his desk. "You are settling in at the Sea Palace?"

"Yes, you did an excellent job restoring it. I did not know how beautiful the mosaics were here. If I had known, I would have come long ago. It is a shame the palace fell into disrepair in the first place."

Ignoring his comments on the restored building, Timov said pointedly, "I instructed the governor in Porto that you were there to rest, not to bombard you with ceremonies and speaking engagements."

Londo chuckled, "He is doing his best. A few on official business have slipped past, and Ilyia has dealt with them."

"I heard there was a parade when you arrived in Porto, and a grand festival at the gates," Timov said, disapprovingly.

Londo shrugged, "We are Centauri, Timov, it is our way. It is to be expected. Did you want me to tell them to go home without even saying hello?"

Timov gazed at her husband on the screen. "You are looking more yourself, anyway," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Londo admitted. "Senna has been looking after me. And I have been enjoying the company you sent to keep me occupied."

Timov caught the image of a feminine arm drift by, almost out of sight on Londo's end. "I see that," she commented with an arched brow. She thought about chastising him, but she had sent the women to distract him from venturing out while he was meant to be on bed rest. In truth, she had taken pity on her husband. She knew how much he enjoyed the company of others. He thrived on social interaction, and he had been robbed of much of it under the constant supervision and control of the Drakh. More importantly, she knew that some light companionship might keep him out of more serious trouble if he tried to enjoy his newfound freedom in the restive South. Timov was not concerned that he would sleep with any of the woman sent to provide him companionship. Social norms in Centauri culture accepted discrete promiscuity outside of marriage, although Londo was rarely discrete about anything, but she recalled that he had disclosed his difficulty in that area to her years before. It did not occur to Timov that the disclosure about his inability to perform had been a lie, resting entirely on Londo's sense of honor in protecting his partners from the presence of the intrusive Drakh Entire during such an intimate encounter.

Despite these thoughts, Timov couldn't help but respond, "Don't enjoy yourself _too_ much."

Londo laughed. "Women are like fine wine, my love. A smooth wine can be something to pass the time, but it isn't very exciting for a man used to brivari. I prefer something with a bit of a bite – just like you."

"Will you _never_ let me forget the one time I bit you?"

Londo held up two fingers, "It was twice."

"The first time barely counts," Timov retorted with a shake of her head. "Neither does the second."

Londo glanced away from the monitor, listening to something in the background. "Senna is calling for me for one of our evening walks," his gaze returned to her, "I must go." He stood and told her seriously, "I will speak with you later, my dove."

* * *

A few evenings later, Timov had arranged herself in her bedroom suite with a stack of papers, deep in thought, when a transmission from Senna appeared. Timov asked about Londo, and Senna relayed that he had felt good enough to receive Mariel and Daggair who had demurely asked his blessing for newfound marriage proposals, and he had heartily told them, "It would be my _pleasure_ to give you away. In fact," he stressed merrily, "I will give you away _as many times as you like_."

Senna giggled, "He seemed to really like telling them that."

"I'll bet he did," Timov smiled. "It sounds as though he is finally beginning to feel like himself again," she put a hand to her chest with emotion. "You know, I wasn't sure if he'd make it when he was having his heart attack."

Seeing Timov's emotion, Senna touched the screen, "I wish I could give you a hug."

"When you get back, child," Timov said quietly, "I will take you up on that offer."

"Until tomorrow then," Senna told her adopted mother.

The transmission ended, and Timov watched the blank screen in thought for some time before she arranged her cascading white dress and made her way to the door that separated her quarters from Londo's suite. "I would like to talk to you," she announced to the door, and then she waited.

Within minutes, Shiv'kala appeared, and the sight of the Drakh turned her stomach.

"I'd like to ask you something," she said, facing the Drakh with her chin tilted up. "What is it you want exactly? From us – from the Centauri people?"

"Do you think you can demand to barter with us?" Shiv'kala stepped forward menacingly.

"I'm not demanding anything. I'm asking what your endgame is," the diminutive woman did not flinch at Shiv'kala's demeanor. "You want a homeworld? I will ensure you receive one – do you want Seti IV as a prize? I will give it to you. What else could you want besides a homeland for your people and security to keep them safe? Would you like a treaty with the Centauri promising our security and protection for your people? I will give it to you. We will protect your ships if that is what you want. Whatever it is, tell me so that we may come to an understanding, and you may leave _my_ world in peace at last."

Shiv'kala shook his scaled head. "We don't have to negotiate with you," he said. "We take what we want."

Timov raised a finger slowly, pointing at Shiv'kala. "Remember this day, Shiv'kala, when I asked you how our people could amicably determine their future together. Because one day, you and your people will regret that you did not take what I have offered."

"You're not in a position to _offer_ anything. You belong to us. The Centauri are _our_ slaves." Shiv'kala turned on his heel, the low sound of a Drakh's laugh following after him as he disappeared into the dark.

* * *

The next day, the doors to Londo's opulent office in the Capitol's palace opened, and in the doorway stood Minister Durla.

"You asked for me, Empress?" the Minister asked smugly at the doorway before stepping in.

"Yes," she said to him in a clipped tone. Looking at him with a stare, Timov pointed to the chair in front of him.

Durla crossed the Emperor's office in long strides, sitting down in the indicated seat.

"If you need . . ." he smiled to himself, ". . . help, Majesty, I'd be happy to offer my experience to you in your time of need."

Timov held him in her icy glare until he seemed to crack under the strain, nervously shifting his legs.

"Are you a moral man, Minister Durla?" she asked.

He blinked at her question. "Of course," he said, at last. "I am a moral man."

"Then what do you believe is the most important thing, Minister Durla?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Most important thing?" he asked with a look of confusion.

"What drives you? Money? Power? The health of your country? Something else perhaps?"

"My country," he replied, "my house, and my family, in that order," he replied firmly.

Timov held his stare. "Is that so?" she asked. "It is clear to me that you are positioning yourself to succeed Londo as emperor. Do you deny it?"

"What are you accusing me of?" Durla growled.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Timov replied evenly.

"I would never plot against the Emperor," Durla said firmly. "That is something only Mollari would do."

Timov raised her eyebrows, "Are you recirculating those old rumors that Londo had something to do with Cartagia's death?"

"That would be treason," Durla held her stare with his own.

"Yes," she said briskly, "it would. And there is more than one way to commit treason, wouldn't you agree? You said, just now, that the country was your foremost priority. Tell me, Minister Durla, do you believe your alliances will further those goals?"

Durla pushed his chair back as he considered her question, glancing behind him to ensure the door was closed before replying. "You are speaking of the Drakh? They will strengthen our position, not diminish it. You are as blind as your husband if you think fighting our allies will get us anywhere. They will help restore our country to its rightful place in the universe."

Timov sucked in a breath at the reminder of what her husband had been dealing with in private for so many years. "You sound so much like Londo some years ago," she told him. "But tell me this - why do the Drakh work in the dark?" she asked Durla.

"It is their way," Durla replied. "Darkness has many benefits."

"Yes, for them," Timov pointed out. "And yet," Timov swept her hand out, "it is strange, is it not, that it is Centauri lives hanging in the wind, ready to be sacrificed to our enemies."

Durla leaned forward, a smile curling his lips again, "Do not forget, _Empress_ , that they are listening, even now."

Timov tapped the bug Shiv'kala had given her. "I'm fully aware that we are not the only parties to this conversation," she replied. "I'm merely investigating your loyalties, and I'm sure they are keen to hear where your loyalties lie as well."

Durla's smile faded into seriousness. "I am faithful to my country," his jaw bulged outward. "And what is best for my country is a return to our position of dominance within the known universe. The Drakh have this shared vision – they will help us achieve it."

Timov watched the minister quietly before responding. "We would be fools, would we not, sacrificing Centauri to help them in their goals if we merely serve as their living shield?"

"The Drakh have never proven themselves unworthy," Durla growled.

"And yet," Timov threw a hand toward the horizon, "who lies dead on Centauri soil? Centauri blood has been spilled protecting them - our cherished telepaths have given their lives to protect this secret, and yet the Drakh will not announce this so-called alliance?"

Durla snorted, "If we announce our alliance with the Drakh, the entire Interstellar Alliance will descend upon us. We have a strong and powerful fleet, but not strong enough to withstand the White Stars in addition to the other IA fleets. It is important we exercise patience. We have used the past decade and a half to build our war machine. There is a plan - I can assure you of that."

Timov shook her head, "An attack by the Interstellar Alliance could destroy our planet. At least that would be quick."

"This is why _you_ should not command our fleets," Durla sprang to his feet in anger, "and why I should be standing in your place."

"You are delusional," Timov replied candidly. "Londo used to feel much the same way as you – and Emperor Turhan as well - and each, of his own accord, arrived at the same conclusion – no matter who our partner is, our colonial expansion days are over. The noble houses have no appetite for foreign wars – they wish to enjoy the remaining fruits of previous expansions. Anyone who cannot see that is blind."

"They _can_ be persuaded," Durla said. "They _will_ be, given the proper leadership."

"I think not," Timov replied. "The noble houses like the _idea_ of regaining their former colonial power but not the _work_ of recapturing former territories."

"You are wrong," Durla said, contempt flaring in his voice.

"I wish I was wrong," Timov said. "And even if I _am_ wrong, and you are right, Minister Durla, at what cost? We return to my first question – are you a _moral_ man?"

"I would never endanger the Republic," Durla replied angrily. "I work for the Republic's glory."

"Is that the pinnacle of your moral thought? The Republic's glory? How very short-sighted of you." Timov crossed her arms.

Durla frowned. "And what has the Alliance done for us but bomb our people and rob them of medicine and supplies?"

"The Minbari and their technology," Timov pointed out, "are not trifled with so easily as some of the more minor races. And the Narn aren't poor farmers anymore."

"The Drakh aren't to be trifled with either," Durla pointed out. "Do you want their technology – the Shadows' technology – working _for_ us or _against_ us?"

"I agree that the Drakh are no small power. But I wonder if the Drakh wish to conquer other races in the tradition of our people by bringing them into the fold or if they wish to exterminate them from existence?"

Durla stared at the Empress with a clenched jaw. "I trust our allies," he said evenly. "And as I said, I would never endanger the Republic." he repeated. "Now, if I may go, Majesty . . . ."

"You may," she dismissed him, but stopped him with her final words. "We did manage a few years of peace if you will recall. Our people were not starving on the streets, dying in their hospital beds, and barely able to make ends meet. I know your ambition, Minister, and I hope that you remember them when you act in furtherance of the Republic's glory."

Durla strode toward the door, turning for a moment as he reached it. He met her eyes, a look of reflection apparent behind the anger on his face before he turned again, and the door closed behind him.

* * *

"I want you to get me a changling net," Londo instructed the guard in front of him. "Then we can safely go out in Porto."

The guards eyes darted around the room uncomfortably. "I—I'm sorry, Majesty, but . . . ."

"But what?" the tenor of Londo's voice had returned to full throttle since his stay at the Sea Palace, and the guard thought he could feel the ground shaking.

"A changeling net is not adequate protection to ensure Your Majesty's protection in Porto."

"And that is your professional opinion?" Londo asked him.

"Yes, Majesty," the guard replied.

"New bulletin - I don't care what your professional opinion is," Londo told him, "I'm ordering you to do it."

"I-I can't," the guard replied.

"Then you are fired," Londo said matter-of-factly. "Next!"

Ilyia, hearing the disagreement, demurely made her way to Londo's side. "Majesty, I'm afraid you don't have the authority . . . ."

"I don't WHAT?" he boomed with irritation.

"Technically," she said calmly, "you have ceded your authority to the Empress – temporarily, of course – and she has commanded certain security requirements to ensure you safely return to the palace unharmed."

Londo stared in disbelief at her. "You are aware that _I_ am the Emperor, yes?" he asked.

"Of course, Majesty."

"And I do not need to do anything to reclaim my power other than to say it is mine? I do not need to be in the Capitol. I do not need anything signed from her. I merely say, 'it is mine,', and it is done."

"Yes, Majesty," Ilyia said uncomfortably.

"Well, there you are," he shrugged.

"Then," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "we should immediately let Her Majesty know of your decision."

"So this is your game," Londo said with a growl. After a moment considering what his next conversation with his wife would be, he backed down with a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he said. "Go away, all of you."

* * *

When the news arrived on President Sheridan's desk that the third system – the Kelsor system - had also been targeted by the unidentified raiders, Sheridan stared silently into the wall for a half hour before calling his aide. "Get me a list of everyone who had access to our intelligence files concerning the Kylias sector, the Plansiar system, and the Kelsor system. _Every. single. person_ ," he ordered. "And I want an investigation launched into _every_ person that had access to this information, immediately."

The aide saluted smartly, "Yes, sir."

* * *

Phylakios found G'Kar conferring with Vir. "It's done," he said with a grin. "All the bombs have been dismantled. They are on their way here now, and we can start to redistribute them in the caverns and passageways under Centauri Prime.

Vir couldn't help but let a smile spread over his face, the heart ache of knowing about the bombs underneath his home for so many years finally gone. "I'm not one for celebration," he smiled, "but I've never been more relieved than to hear those bombs are gone."

G'Kar grinned, "A celebration it is," he gestured to the other aliens gathering around them, and the sun went down over a bonfire illuminating cheerful aliens, hopeful once again that their future might be brighter than their past.

* * *

As the sun fell each evening at the Sea Palace, Senna would find Londo, taking him to the private beach flanking the palace's gardens. With guards posted along the palace boundaries in the distance, they were left alone under the twilight.

Barefoot, they enjoyed the evening air together, walking along the water lapping at the shore.

"You are looking much better, Papa," Senna told Londo as she grasped his hand with both of hers.

Londo turned and gazed at the setting sun as he put an arm around his daughter. "I feel as though a weight has been lifted from me these past few weeks," Londo admitted. "I cannot say what it is, but these walks with you have set my hearts at ease." He looked at his charge gently, "To be here, with you, in such a beautiful place – to see the sun setting over the ocean, and to feel the sand beneath my feet . . . ." His voice faded away, "it makes the noise disappear – reminds me what is important in my life."

"Sometimes it is hard to get you away from all the people who surround you day and night – the guards and the courtiers and the ministers and everyone. My favorite time with you is like this – all to myself," a smile warmed Senna's features. She watched Londo as he stared intently into the distance. "What are you doing, Papa?"

"I am ready to return to the palace in the Capitol, and when I do, I will not be able to have these walks with my favorite daughter anymore, so I am trying to memorize every detail," he turned to her at last, "I don't want to forget anything about it. It is among my most cherished memories."

She smiled and patted his hand, turning back to the ocean. "Mine as well."

They passed over an hour walking slowly in the rising moonlight, and Senna broached a subject she had meant to ask Londo about for some time. "You told me once that you saw yourself becoming emperor before it happened . . . ."

"Yes," Londo replied. "I knew that I would become emperor."

Senna walked further silently before asking, "But you said that you saw yourself being crowned with the diadem of Emperor Tuscano?"

"Yes," Londo nodded. "And I saw the Shadows flying over Centauri Prime - though I did not understand it at the time. I saw it all in my death dream," he sighed at the memory.

"But," Senna probed gently, "that happened years ago? How could it be part of your death dream if you received your Crown a decade and a half ago? If you saw yourself in the imperial white, that is one thing. But to see yourself receiving the diadem is quite another. And the Shadow's attack as well."

"What do you mean?" Londo looked at her, his brow furrowed.

"Papa," she asked quietly, "is there a latent strain of seers that runs in your family?"

Londo stared at Senna without answering. "Don't be absurd," he said at last.

"So you know of no one?"

Londo stared again before responding. "There were some rumors on my mother's side, but . . . ."

"Then the gods have blessed you," Senna grasped his hands excitedly. "To see a glimpse of the future like that – it is very rare."

"It was part of my death dream," Londo said dismissively, but he said it unconvincingly.

"A death dream shows you the moment of your death, not something that would happen years before, Papa. Incredible," she said with a smile. She looked out over the moonlit sea, "Then you are related by blood to the telepaths, even if it is very distantly."

Londo snorted, "That is like saying I am related to all Centauri."

"The ability to see the future and the telepathic ability stem from the same gene," Senna said, her face becoming serious. "We should protect the special abilities of our people, Papa, special abilities like the one you have – it may be latent and not very strong, but it is there – you must admit it."

"The telepaths," Londo's brow knitted together as he thought about them, and his head dropped as he stared at the sand. "I am sure I had a good reason," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Senna asked him.

"I-I can't remember _why_ I ordered the telepaths to be executed," Londo whispered as he studied the ground, his chest heaving. "They are part of our people and our traditions. I don't know what would move me to send such an order."

Senna's eyes widened and she bit her lip before she put an arm around him. "You don't remember doing it?" Seeing him shake his head and despite Timov's warning not to discuss politics, Senna knew it might be her only opportunity to sway his thoughts on the matter. She whispered back, "It is not too late, Papa. You can still save them – the ones that are in hiding, the ones in holding."

Londo rubbed his face with a hand before nodding slowly. "Of course," he said slowly. "And surely I could yet do something about the aliens sold into slavery to save their lives," he looked at the ground with tears in his eyes.

"Oh Papa," she hugged him, seeing his anguish at the thought of the people that had died under his commands.

At last, he pulled away, wiping away his tears with a hand. "Thank you . . . " he looked at Senna strangely for a moment, blinking in confusion.

Perceiving what was happening, Senna said gently, "It is Senna, Papa."

"Of course," he said sternly. "I know your name, Senna. You are my daughter."

But as she watched him, she could see the embarrassment and confusion he was trying to hide, and at last she took his arm again. "It has been a long evening, Papa, and I can see that you are tired. I forget silly things when I am tired, as well. Let's get you back inside where you can rest."

"Timov," he said quietly, not yet ready to leave, as he glanced out at the sea. "I ordered her to be held in the dungeon."

Senna gasped, covering her mouth with a hand. "Then the rumors were true?" she whispered.

Londo put a hand to his temple in disbelief. "Do you know what the most difficult thing for me is?" he asked.

"What?" Senna asked him.

In a moment of frankness, Londo said, "To be selfless enough to give up power. It is not easy to want something for so long and then to realize what you have caused – it is difficult to entertain the thought of giving up the thing you sought for so long."

Senna inched closer, dropping her voice. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Before my heart attack," Londo disclosed, "Timov told me she thought I was going mad, and I did not believe her. I thought she was being preposterous. But I've thinking and," his brow furrowed, "there are a number of things I'm having trouble recalling - or understanding why I did them. And now Timov is trying to protect me by telling me it is a side effect of my heart attack," Londo gazed into the sand.

Senna's mouth dropped open before she snapped it shut again. "Papa, we can have a specialist see you . . . ."

"To do what?" he asked her. "I can see now, in a moment of clarity, that I cannot defend some of what I have done. If actions are necessary, then they are necessary, but I am not sure that all of these things I have done were necessary for the good of our people or my family. And the only cure for such ill-placed commands is a well-placed knife."

"Papa," Senna put a hand on his arm, horrified by his words, "you are the only person who can change these policies – the only man the Centaurum will listen to. Maybe you have made mistakes, but the answer isn't a knife – it is the pen."

Londo contemplated this as he turned to watch the waves one last time. "Perhaps. In any event, it is time to return to the palace," he announced. "And time to relieve Timov of the burden I have saddled her with these past few weeks."

Senna paled, thinking of the husband who waited for her when she returned to the palace. "Are you sure, Papa? Maybe a few more days . . . ."

"The royal physician has cleared me to return to my duties," he responded. "And running from these problems will solve nothing."

Senna tried to smile reassuringly, but her hearts sank as she thought of their return to the royal palace in the Capitol City.


	34. Losing the World to Gain the Universe

Londo returned to the main palace, and the grounds were filled with crowds and fanfare. The crowd at the palace swelled, pushing the royal guards backward, trying to catch a glimpse of the emperor as he descended from the royal carriage. As soon as he emerged, Prime Minister Wesa heartily congratulated him on his return and informed him that a grand reception was already underway to celebrate his arrival. Nodding, Londo turned to receive the ministers, courtiers, and well-wishers that were welcoming him home.

As he glanced over the crowd, Londo caught sight of Timov patiently waiting, and their eyes locked briefly in acknowledgement of each other.

"If you would like to make your way to the reception, Majesty?" Wesa said, pulling Londo's attention away.

"Yes," Londo agreed, "of course."

Wesa snapped at Palco, and Palco emerged with a teetering tray of glasses filled with brivari. "To your health, Majesty," Wesa toasted, backed by the cheers of the crowd.

As Londo took a glass from Palco's tray, he addressed the servant. "I saw your grand-uncle this morning before I left Porto," he said.

Palco's eyes grew wide, aware that the Emperor was addressing him while the delegation of ministers was waiting. "I heard from him this morning, Majesty. He was delighted to have seen you while you were there. He said you gave him a gift."

"It was just a little something for Dunseny's years of service," Londo smiled.

"He said it was _very generous_ ," Palco nodded vigorously.

"Well," Londo tipped his glass toward Palco, "he deserved it. Your family has served my family for many generations, and he deserves not only a retirement, but a comfortable one."

Palco bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment, and Londo continued past him, sipping on his brivari.

Londo strode toward the royal hall, engaging himself with the countless ministers, courtiers, staff, and well-wishers that had come to greet him. He was in his element again as he happily greeted familiar faces in the crowd, his voice booming with delight.

* * *

Several hours later, Timov rubbed her tired temples. Londo had been enjoying himself all afternoon and into the evening, but he had done little more than nod to her across the room. As he had energetically engaged with his guests, Timov had taken some time to catch up with Senna, but Senna was understandably nervous at their return, and although she had been away from the Capitol City for some years, she had disappeared early in the evening, afraid of running into Toscaneli or his father.

Timov was exhausted by the stress of the past few weeks, and she slipped away at last, returning to her chambers. She changed into a nightgown with a robe of white satin over it, relaxing in her quarters. She could feel the weight of the Crown being lifted by Londo's return, but the dreadful knowledge of the Drakh weighed on her mind more heavily knowing that Londo's taste of freedom was about to come to an abrupt end, and she prayed Vir had made the most of the arrangements she had made for him when Londo's carriage had left the palace weeks before. To her relief, Vir had not contacted her, and he evidently had not accompanied Londo to the Sea Palace, so she hoped he had arranged the dismantling of the bombs.

As she curled into a plush love seat, she tried to push the thoughts of the Drakh, Senna's match with Toscaneli, and Londo's waning freedom from her mind. She had spent every waking hour trying to think of a way out of the mess, but she was as hopelessly bound as Londo had been, threatened with the destruction and death of her people if she did not comply and ensnared by their constant monitoring. She wanted desperately to speak with Londo, but his memories would not be restored until the keeper once again sat on his shoulder, and as she thought of him at the party, she hoped he would make the most of his remaining freedom.

She closed her eyes to rest for a few minutes, but it seemed almost as soon as she closed her eyes that she heard Londo's voice.

"I brought you a drink," he said, standing in the doorway.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Timov asked sleepily, glancing up at Londo waiting to enter her bedchamber.

"I'm enjoying the view," Londo said with a smirk as his eyes traveled down her sheer nightgown and robe.

"You are incorrigible," Timov replied with a hint of annoyance.

At last, Londo crossed the room, bringing her a fluted glass.

"The last thing I need is a glass of brivari," she said, "and probably the last thing you need, too."

"My doctor has already cleared me to drink whatever I like. And I hate to disappoint you, but I brought you hot jala, not brivari," he told her as he handed it to her.

"Oh," she replied in surprise, taking the offered glass and sniffing it verify that it was, indeed, hot jala.

Londo sat down next to her, throwing his free arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. "It looks as though the country is still in one piece," he told her, sipping his brivari. "Some of the Centaurum had their doubts, but not one person complained to me today."

"Not one?" Timov asked suspiciously.

"Not loudly anyway," Londo grinned. "I would call that quite a success." He studied Timov's face closely. "But perhaps it has taken its toll on you?"

She leaned into his shoulder as she placed the fingertips of her free hand over her closed eyes, trying to restrain fresh tears.

"Timov," he pulled her closer, comforting her, "it is all right." But as he watched her trying to hold her emotions in, he asked her quietly, "Did you have some sort of private chat with my doctors?"

Seeing her expression in the dim light, he sighed resignedly, "Is it that bad?"

He gently took the jala from her hand and set it beside his brivari on a table next to the love seat, embracing her with both his arms. For several minutes, they remained frozen in the embrace.

"I see," he said at last. "My memory . . . ."

"Senna told me about your concerns," Timov replied.

"I put you in the dungeon," his chest heaved. "Why would I do such a thing?"

"Appearances to the contrary, you did it for my protection."

Timov wondered at the oddness of the situation. Only a few weeks before, she had been convinced of Londo's insanity, and he had to balance the narrow tightrope of telling her too much and persuading her that he was still in control of his mental faculties, and now the tables were turned.

Your memory isn't as bad as you think," Timov added. _Not yet anyway,_ she thought. "We are both learning what it is like to get older - my disease and your waning health." She pulled back with a sniff. "It is highly irritating that you would leave me alone like that."

Londo laughed at last, "Do you mean by having a heart attack? Yes, it was inconsiderate." He took her hand, kissing it and drawing it to his chest. "I am sorry."

Timov whispered, "I have never felt as alone as I have felt these past few weeks."

Londo stared at her before he responded, "You have never struck me as a woman who needed anyone."

"Things change," she said softly.

"If you had come to the hospital or to the Sea Palace, you wouldn't have been alone at all," he replied gently.

Timov dabbed the corner of her eyes with her fingertips, "I told you, I _would have come_. I'm sorry I could not."

Londo contemplated this before he nodded, "I expect," his tone took on a more authoritative tenor, "that if it happens again, my one and only remaining wife will at least come to my bedside when I am dying. You must pay attention to appearances, at the very least."

"I will come to your bedside if you are dying," Timov managed a smile. "But you've always wanted to go out with your boots on, so I doubt it will matter."

Londo grunted an acknowledgement.

"It is getting late, and I'm going to bed," Timov stood up, her robe slipping to the floor, leaving only her nightgown.

"Is that an invitation?" Londo asked hopefully.

"I'll be waiting," she replied over her shoulder.

"It _is_ an invitation," Londo said, brightening as he threw back the last of his brivari before he followed her.

"I thought you said—" Timov stopped abruptly.

"Said what?" Londo asked inquisitively.

"You can't – you weren't able to—"

"Me?" Londo snorted, "Don't be absurd."

Timov drew back, "Did you sleep with any of those women I sent to entertain you?"

Londo looked perplexed, "Is there a problem?"

"You did!" Timov was shocked.

"The physician cleared me some days ago," Londo protested. "It was consentual. I am not Cartagia..."

"I never—" Timov could feel the anger burning her cheeks.

Londo was clearly confused. "You sent them to me!"

"I did not send them to you for you to sleep with," Timov's voice rose shrilly. "And if, for a moment, you think that I would ever . . . _ever_ . . . send you . . . the very idea, Londo!"

"It meant nothing," Londo extended his palms, his confusion evident. Facing Timov's anger, he stepped back. "It meant nothing," he repeated, more gently. He shook his head in confusion, "I do not understand - you have never been angry because of this in the past."

"You are as thick as spoo sometimes," she told him heatedly. "Why my family cast my lot with one of the most difficult men I have ever encountered, I'll never know."

Londo blinked. "Are you jealous?" A grin curled his mouth. "Timov of Alghul is jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," she crossed her arms testily. "And this is no laughing matter. You forget how long we have been married, and I am _very much aware_ of how you like to pass your time. But perhaps you don't find _me_ attractive," she faltered. "It has been decades since you even tried," she added touchily.

Londo put a hand lightly on her shoulder "That isn't true at all - you are beautiful and alluring, and I would never turn down an opportunity to enjoy an evening with you. And I _do_ remember how long we have been married. It has been close to 4 decades. No one can replace all that we have been though. And if I had known it would hurt you . . . Timov, I didn't mean to take advantage of your affection or your generosity. My indiscretion was," he added truthfully, "just something to pass the time, and I was lonely."

"And yet, you told me that you were unable to perform some time ago," Timov said icily.

Londo stared at her a moment before his brow knitted. "Perhaps I did say that," he said slowly, putting a hand to his temple, "but I don't know why I would say such a thing." He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "You think I do not realize that the women who would sleep with me do so because of my position. I know it all too well. You are the only one who doesn't care about my position at all," he told her earnestly. "You make me work for your affection, and it means more to me than anyone else's. In fact, I clearly remember a time when I did not have your affection, and I would not like to revisit it."

Timov stared at him until realization dawned on her, and her anger melted away as quickly as it had come. "Oh," Timov breathed. "For all your faults," she whispered, "you did not want to broadcast our marriage bed to them."

"Why would I broadcast my bedroom activities to anyone?" Londo huffed. "And who is them?"

"Never mind," she said, turning her back to Londo. She felt emotion overwhelming her again. Londo had always been a man who delighted in the senses – singing, dancing, drinking, gambling, women. She had known about his indiscretions since the second week of their marriage. She could tell from his response that it had, in fact, meant little to him and that he craved her affection, but during his time at the main palace, he had been prevented by the Drakh's presence. She was surprised at the anger his confession had elicited from her, but it was, she knew in her hearts, because she wished to share his affection, and a silent, uncrossable boundary had lay between them since he had become emperor.

She also thought about the first two decades of their marriage, and she realized now how cold and empty they seemed. It was also a time she preferred not to revisit.

Determined at last, Timov picked the Drakh bug out from its hiding place among the folds of her nightgown and flicked it onto the floor where she crushed it with her heel before turning around to face Londo again.

"Never mind?" he asked, but Timov began to unbutton his waistcoat slowly.

"Yes, never mind," she repeated, but she could tell he was already distracted by her fingers. "You should enjoy your last night of freedom," she said him softly.

"I would like that," he murmured, drawing her closer with a grin.

* * *

It was to be their one and only night together, for the very next day, fate took everything out of their hands, sacrificing their brief reunion at the altar of the future of Centauri Prime.


	35. The Longest Day

Vir flew into a large conference room in a makeshift structure on his estate, a look of panic on his face. "Where's G'Kar?" he asked the room full of aliens. In the midst of them, Phylakios jerked his head toward the Narn sitting nearby.

Rushing to G'Kar's side, Vir could barely speak.

"What's wrong?" G'Kar asked him, hoping the panicky Centauri would calm down.

"The Narn," Vir threw a handful of papers on a table in front of them. "They are massing troops inside our eastern borders. It is the closest route to a direct attack on Centauri Prime, and it looks increasingly like an attack is eminent. Do you know anything about this?"  
G'Kar stared at the reports, his face tense. "G'Tsak must have convinced the Kha'Ri to launch an attack. How old is this intelligence?"

"I just got it," Vir replied, "If the Defense Minister hasn't briefed Londo on it yet, he will be doing it soon."

G'Kar stared at the papers. "It is true that a military strike would have the most chance of success when power is being shifted from one leader to another, and with Mollari's health recently, our forces would have seen an opportunity." He looked thoughtfully at the papers a moment longer, "But still – I do not know that it would be enough to convince the Kha'Ri to attack now." He turned to Vir. "So tell me, Vir Cotto, what else has happened recently?"

Vir looked at the ground with uneasiness.

As the silence stretched on, G'Kar waited patiently for the Centauri to respond.

"Londo had part of the dungeon renovated – it was a really old part of the palace - and they found some remains . . . really, really old remains."

G'Kar's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

"He had our science labs attempt to identify the remains, and they were able to identify a number of Narn." Vir gulped air, attempting to calm himself down. "Ta'Vos, Kal'ren, G'Tvries, Khi'ol, and others . . . ."

G'Kar's eyes widened, and he repeated the names with an air of reverence. "Ta'Vos . . . Kal'ren . . . G'Tvries . . . Khi'ol . . . . Some of our greatest councilors – all killed during the First Occupation. We were told they died in battle, killed when their ships exploded. And now," he shook his head in disbelief, "you are telling me they were all brought to Centauri Prime? And kept in the dungeon below the palace to be tortured and killed? The greatest Narn minds in generations died here – buried inside your palace walls?"

Vir nodded, his eyes downcast. "Londo wanted to return the remains when they were identified, but he knew it wouldn't go well, considering who they were."

G'Kar stared at Vir. "As a pouchling, I heard the tales of these men. Their leadership, their courage, their wisdom. You cannot know what it is to hear their names again. And to hear their final fate . . . ." his voice trailed off. "It is almost too much to bear."

"Londo knew what it would cause," Vir shook his head sadly, "and he hadn't figure out what to do. But when the Empress took power, she heard Londo hadn't acted yet, and she didn't consult him – she just sent them back to ensure they were returned to their families – even if the First Occupation was long before our time." Tears massed in Vir's eyes. "When I read in the daily communiques that she had decided to send them back, it was already done. She instructed the courier to be discreet, and I had hoped the Narn wouldn't be told where they were found."

"Then _that_ is what G'Tsak had used to inflame my people. It certainly is enough," G'Kar shook his head thoughtfully. "My people do not understand what they are walking into. If we attack Centauri Prime, the Drakh could use their Shadow technology against us. Without the Vorlon to protect us and the Minbari and humans at our side, we could be decimated. We need our allies before we are ready for an outright war with the Drakh and . . . ."

"And the Centauri," Vir sadly finished his thought for him.

G'Kar shook his head, "I hope not. But I need to speak with Mollari. Urgently."

"He just returned to the Capitol tonight." Vir put a hand on G'Kar's chest, setting his jaw with conviction. "I'll go – I'll talk to Londo and confront him about the Drakh."

"No," G'Kar commanded. "I _do_ want to speak with Mollari about the Drakh – if the bombs have been holding him from action, the news that they are dismantled should free his hand. But more importantly at this moment is saving the Narn that will die needlessly if they attack Centauri Prime, and they will not listen to you. Besides, Vir Cotto, you are the lynchpin to this entire operation," he waved his hand at the alien estate. "You were the only one able to get credentials and access for the Resistance to the bomb sites. You are the protector of aliens and telepaths on Centauri Prime, and they cannot afford to lose you. I came to this planet to speak with Mollari, and I intend to see him, one way or another."

"No," Vir protested, "the royal guards won't let you anywhere near him. Maybe we could have gotten you in at the Sea Palace where there was less security, but now that he's in the Capital, it's a fortress."

Seeing the disagreement between the men, Phylakios walked over and addressed Vir, "Respectfully, Royal Adjutant, G'Kar is right. We cannot afford to lose you. If the Narn is willing to walk into a nest of poisonous _ctharia_ , then I believe I have a plan that can get him inside. But I won't be able to get him out again."

Vir's eyes darted from Phylakios to G'Kar, widening, "You'll be killed, G'Kar. Please don't go."

G'Kar put a glove on Vir's shoulder. "We all die, Vir Cotto. It is how we live that is important." G'Kar turned to Phylakios, "Make the arrangements."

* * *

As the Emperor and the Empress slept, intertwined, a bright flash illuminated Timov's quarters, and both Centauri were knocked unconscious. Shiv'kala and a handful of the Drakh's helpers, the Streib, passed through the door to the Emperor's quarters, silently moving through the darkness to the Emperor's bedside. "Take him," Shiv'kala commanded, pointing to Londo. "He cannot meet with his advisors tomorrow without the keeper." As the Drakh prepared to move the body, Shiv'kala stared coldly at the inert figure of the Empress. Finally, his eyes searched the floor, and he found the remains of the crushed Drakh bug he had given her in the dungeon. "Twist and turn, you are still in our web," he said quietly. Shiv'kala glanced one last time at the Empress before he followed the Streib moving Londo's body at a measured pace, preparing himself to touch the Centauri's alien mind to return his memories of the Drakh.

* * *

Staring at Shiv'kala, Londo had awakened to the nightmare the Drakh had hidden from him weeks before. As his memories flooded back, Londo put a shocked hand to his chest.

"You were right," Shiv'kala snorted, "for once. Your hearts _are_ indestructible."

Londo gasped as he apprehended the situation, "Timov sent me away because she knew what would happen when I came back to the palace." He stared into the floor, talking to himself. "She saved my life again," he finally looked back at the Drakh. "First by negotiating with you to get me to the hospital and then by preventing me from returning before my hearts could handle it." He wiped the tears forming in his eyes away. "She's saved my life now more times than I count, and . . ." emotion overcame him, "sometimes, I think she merely puts up with me," he shook his head, sighing to himself.

"Nothing has changed," Shiv'kala interrupted Londo coldly.

"What do you mean?" Londo asked.

"Nothing has changed," Shiv'kala repeated. "The Drakh Entire made their decision before your heart attack. We cannot afford to allow her to live, especially now. Just yesterday, she destroyed the bug we placed on her to monitor her activities. You will order her death. This is your one opportunity. If you do not take care of it, we will – and we will ensure it is neither quick nor painless."

Londo stared at the Drakh.

"That is not the thing only thing required of you," Shiv'kala added, detailing the Drakh's demands. "Do you understand?"

Silently, Londo nodded.

* * *

When Timov awoke the next morning, she no longer felt Londo's touch, and she reached a hand toward his side of the bed, but it was cold. She sat up, fear filling the pit of her stomach, and she dressed quickly.

When, at last, she encountered him staring at a mound of papers in his office, Durla bending over his shoulder, she saw him turn his gaze toward her. There was a haunted look in his eyes that had not been there the night before, and she knew exactly what had happened.

"Majesty," Plancho stepped in front of her gaze as he addressed the Emperor, "The Cabinet is awaiting you."

"Of course," Londo said, a weight drawing his shoulders down. "Then we should go."

* * *

At the beginning of the Cabinet Meeting, the acting Prime Minister rose and slowly made his way to the Emperor. "Majesty," Wesa bowed, handing a document to Plancho to hand to the Emperor. "As you know, my resignation was effective upon your return, and it was accepted by the Empress in your absence."

Londo nodded, accepting the resignation wordlessly. He snapped at Plancho who withdrew a royal proclamation, already signed, with the royal seal attached.

With a tone devoid of emotion, Londo said, "I have appointed Defense Minister Durla as Prime Minister. He will act in both roles until I find a suitable replacement for him at the Ministry of Defense."

Durla stepped forward, bowing, a smile bending his beaked features unnaturally upward. "It is my greatest honor, Majesty, to assume the role of Prime Minister." He glanced at the Empress, his gloating eyes meeting her cold expression momentarily before he bowed again and took his place at the table as Prime Minister.

After the ministers had updated the Emperor on the matters of the Republic, Durla rose, cutting off the briefing. "The Narn problem looms, Majesty. I recommend that you convene the War Council so that we may prepare our forces in the face of this new threat."

Londo nodded, "Convene the War Council," he said quietly.

* * *

While Londo was meeting with the War Council, Timov paid a visit to Emanio to check on the affairs of the palace. As she looked over the palace books, she turned to see President Toscaneli, his son, and Senna waiting behind her, and her hearts sank, knowing they were there to take Senna home with them.

"Now isn't a good time," she told the Centaurum president, "Londo is dealing with a number of pressing matters, and . . . ."

"Now is the _only_ time, Empress," the Centaurum president told her determinedly. "The Emperor has a new son-in-law, and it would be highly inappropriate not to make him aware at the first opportunity that has presented itself. But if you would like us to discuss without your presence . . . ?"

"No," Timov told them firmly as she took Senna by the hand, patting it in reassurance. The four made their way to Londo's inner office, and they waited until he returned from his meeting with the War Council.

* * *

On his return from the War Council meeting and upon seeing the quartet outside his office, Londo stared hard at the young Toscaneli. "This looks like trouble," he said, waving them to follow him into his office.

After everyone was settled in the inner office, Londo nodded to the Centaurum President.

"Majesty," President Toscaneli said with an air of happiness. "While you were recuperating, we able to come to an agreement over the hand of your daughter."

Londo sat back in his oversize chair as he contemplated Toscaneli's words. "Who is ' _we_?'"

"The Empress, of course," Toscaneli chuckled.

"And what agreement did you come to?" Londo asked suspiciously.

"Knowing that your hearts were weak, Majesty, we did not want to shock you a few weeks ago, but we were able to come to a mutual agreement between House Toscaneli and House Mollari on the matter of young Senna's marriage to my son."

"Marriage?" Londo glanced between Toscaneli and Timov. "You agreed to this in my name?" he asked Timov at last.

Timov did not reply, and she could not meet his gaze.

"Everyone in this country knows that I gave Senna the right to name her own suitor," he said testily. "I will not break my word to my daughter."

"I chose him," Senna replied quietly.

Londo's anger melted at her reply. "You choose _this_ man?" he asked her incredulously. " _This_ man? You are sure you have not mistaken him for someone else? Someone about this tall and this wide," Londo gestured Vir's measurements.

"Yes, Papa," she said, even more quietly, trying desperately to hold her tears inside.

"Senna," he addressed her directly. "Look at me. _This_ is the man you want to marry?"

Senna met his gaze with her tear-filled eyes, but she could not reply.

President Toscaneli threw out his arms, "The couple knew Your Majesty would not wish for them to delay their happiness, and they are already married."

Londo stared at the people in his office, disbelief evident. "You are telling me that they are _already_ married?" he said, his breaths getting faster. "Has this marriage been consummated?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"No," Timov answered briskly, "They were married just before you left for the Sea Palace."

Londo met her gaze and he lifted his chin in disapproval as the truth dawned on him. He looked to Toscaneli, "Did you make some sort of a deal to approve Timov's choice of acting Prime Minister?"

The President inched forward on his chair, "It was as masterful a deal as _you_ would have negotiated, Majesty."

Londo stood up, an unreadable expression on his face. "I can appreciate a masterful negotiation," Londo smiled hollowly. "But tell me, President Toscaneli, did your son ask for this match?"

"No, Majesty," the Centaurum President laughed. "While you have taken a bit of a more liberal hand with your family since you became Emperor, my House makes all the arrangements for our younger generations." He pursed his lips. "As his father, _I_ thought it would be beneficial to both our families."

"I see," Londo replied. "Senna admitted that she submitted to this match, and Timov apparently agreed to it on my behalf. So it appears everything is in order, yes?" He crossed his office, walking over to his ceremonial coutaris adorning his wall, and he pulled one off its hook. Turning around, he pointed at the President with it. "But you have miscalculated, Toscaneli. You have robbed me of seeing my only daughter's marriage." His tone dripped with anger, "I consider that a violation of honor – and a measure of treason against the Crown as well. It was blatantly done behind my back while I was ill. There is not one emperor in the history of the Republic who would allow such a challenge to stand."

Toscaneli stood up and shook a finger at Londo, "I didn't do this by myself, Mollari. If you are angry at me, then you will have to hold your wife accountable as well."

"Oh, I intend to hold everyone responsible _accountable_ ," Londo bellowed as he turned angrily on Timov. "How could you?" Londo asked her irately. "How could you violate my trust and do such a thing to Senna?"

Timov hadn't seen Londo that angry in years, and she could see he was apoplectic over the news.

There was hardly anything Timov could say to him in mixed company.

"Guards!" Londo bellowed, and the guards appeared instantly in the doorway. Londo turned back to Timov and pointed at her with the coutari. "I will deal with you later." He turned to the guards. "Escort the Empress to her quarters _downstairs_ ," he commanded heatedly.

Taking Londo's cue, the guards flanked the Empress, and with a deep sigh, she led them down to the renovated quarters in the dungeon that she had occupied until Londo had suffered his heart attack.

* * *

Back in Mollari's office, Londo turned his wrath on Toscaneli. "Now, as for you . . . " he swung his coutari toward Toscaneli.

"I'm the Centaurum President, Mollari. You need me. Don't forget that," Toscanelli said as he noticed the blade angle toward him.

"You have picked the wrong day and the wrong time to challenge me," Londo told him. "I don't care about your position," Londo crossed the room menacingly.

Glancing at the remaining royal guards, Toscanelli threw up a hand, "If it is a matter of honor, then at least give me a coutari to defend myself."

Londo halted momentarily. "To be afforded a matter of honor, you must have some honor to start with." Without another word, Londo thrust the coutari through Toscanelli's chest, sending him tumbling to the floor as his blood spilled out. Londo stood over the body and glared at Toscaneli's son. "I understand you have requested an annulment," Londo told him pointedly. "And I have decided to grant it."

The young man stared at the Emperor with wide eyes, his jaw moving back and forth. "Yes—yes-of course, Majesty. I would be . . . _delighted_ to have an annulment."

"Very good," Londo snapped to Palco waiting outside, "Palco will prepare your request for the annulment, and I will sign the papers before you leave."

"May I take my father's body . . . ."

"You may take his body but not his head," Londo pulled the coutari from the body. "That will be placed on a pike outside the palace before nightfall as a warning to others who do not abide their proper place."

The younger Toscaneli stood, quickly signing the papers brought to him by Palco.

"I am letting you go because it was your father who plotted this treachery," Londo told him. "Your life is my gift to you."

"I appreciate your . . . mercy, Majesty," the younger Toscaneli bowed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Oh and," Londo called after him lightly, "I understand you are heir to your father's seat in the Centaurum. Congratulations on your ascension to such as auspicious body and your new position as President of the Centaurum. I understand it belongs to your family for another few years before it rotates to another noble house. I look forward to working with you."

Toscaneli bowed again, his face pale as he departed to wait for his father's body in the hall.

As he left, Londo motioned to the guards to clean up the mess.

"I didn't mean for him to—" Senna stood as she covered her mouth with her hands.

"—You shouldn't have been put in that position, Senna," Londo told her gently, taking her by the shoulders. "Toscaneli took advantage of the situation." He took her into a bear hug. "It isn't your fault," he told her quietly into her ear. "It is my responsibility to look after the throne, yes? There are always wolves at the door. They must be reminded, periodically, of who is still in charge."

Senna pulled back, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Papa, please, don't blame Timov."

"A ruler cannot let such a thing go unpunished, Senna. Regardless of her intensions, she violated my trust."

"The gods demand parity in the universe, Papa. Equilibrium is maintained only because for everything that is gained, something is lost, and vice versa. What will you lose at the expense of your pride?"

"The gods abandoned me a long time ago, Senna. I think they abandoned all of us," he told her. "As for parity, sometimes there no choice. A ruler does not have the luxury of doing everything he wants to do – sometimes he must do what he _has_ do. Now go on," he said softly, turning her toward the door gently.

* * *

After he watched Senna depart, Londo retired to the throne room wearily, and Palco approached him. "A long day already, sire?"

Londo sighed deeply, "I hate to tell you, Palco, but I did not miss this. One day – I am back one day and it has all returned, but worse than before."

Palco handed him a brivari. "There is a man here to see you," Palco said. "He carries slave papers with the Empress's mark upon them."

Londo rested his head on the back of the throne as he squinted at Palco with interest, "Bring him to me."

A tall Centauri entered, and Londo pushed himself out of the throne to receive the stranger. He gestured to the stranger for the papers, and the tall Centauri handed them over. Reading them, Londo's brow furrowed. "But these are Phylakios's papers," he said. Looking up, he stopped short, for G'Kar now appeared before him, having deactivated his changling net.

The royal guards, ever watchful, drew their weapons and prepared to fire, but Londo immediately grabbed G'Kar with one hand and threw his other hand out toward the guards. "Do not shoot," he commanded.

"G'Kar," he turned around and stared at the Narn, "what are you doing here?"

G'Kar shrugged. "I heard you were ill, and I could not find a card hideous enough to pass undetected through the Centauri mail service. So I came instead."

"Only you," Londo grinned incredulously. "But you have walked into a hornet's nest. Stay by my side, do you understand?" He shook a finger in G'Kar's face. "It is _very_ important."

Londo turned momentarily to address Palco. "Find Phylakios – wherever he is these days - and bring him here immediately. And his family as well."

Palco bowed his acquiescence.

Londo turned to G'Kar, shaking the slave papers in his face. "Now what is this about?"

"I am here to prevent the Narn attack on Centauri Prime," he said frankly. "I only need to send a communication, and I believe I can prevent it."

Londo said nothing, trying to read G'Kar's intensions. "In exchange for what?" he asked quietly.

"Room and board," G'Kar said lightly. Wisely, he was prepared to hide his knowledge of the Drakh until the time to confront the Emperor was ripe. G'Kar's face fell into seriousness, and he said, "Without my presence here, they will attack, and I don't want to see our people needlessly fall into another war if we can prevent it. Let me send the message."

Londo nodded slowly, gesturing to G'Kar to follow him back to his office. There, Londo allowed G'Kar to transmit a priority message under the royal seal.

Quickly, G'Kar established contact with Ambassador Ta'Lon, telling him to release the video he had previously recorded. Ta'Lon complied, broadcasting the recorded video to a broadband frequency in Centauri space.

In the recorded video, G'Kar notified his religious followers that he was on Centauri Prime seeking a peaceful solution to their long-standing differences, and he instructed his followers to prevent any ships from approaching the planet, or he could be harmed.

Londo watched the live broadcast of the pre-recorded message and turned toward G'Kar. "Inciting religious fervor is a new tactic for you," he said lightly.

"I'm saving your skin," G'Kar told him mildly. "Our technology has advanced in the past two decades."

"I'm sure it has," Londo said as he as interrupted by a commotion. He turned to see Durla suddenly break into his office, flanked by Ministry of Defense soldiers.

"What is the meaning of this?" Londo asked Durla angrily.

"Majesty," Durla recovered himself, stopping short before Londo's desk. "We heard there was . . . a Narn with you."

"What of it?" Londo asked, furious.

"What of it? By your own laws, it is illegal for such a . . . creature to be walking around Centauri Prime. How did such a thing happen? Your security," Durla spat at Londo's new guards, "seem to be sleeping on the job. They recently replaced more experienced guards – perhaps they should return to their duties in light of this embarrassment."

G'Kar leaned backwards, folding his arms, clearly interested in the events unfolding before him.

Londo pulled the slave papers from his waistcoat and waived them in the Prime Minister's face, "He is here _legally_ , Durla."

"Is he?" Durla grinned with a laugh. "G'Kar of Narn is a _slave_? This calls for a public broadcast. I'm sure the people will want to know the great G'Kar – the man who tore his chains in front of Cartagia – has bowed to the might of the Centauri Empire. He has submitted to his proper position as a _slave_. Perhaps a broadcast of him kissing your shoes, Majesty, would be _most_ appropriate."

G'Kar sprang forward, snarling at Durla, and Londo grabbed him with a hand, " _Don't_ ," he said quietly to G'Kar.

"I am _no slave_ to be paraded around by the nose by this piece of _shrock_ ," G'Kar hissed back.

"Well?" Durla asked, "is he a slave as you said, Majesty? Or is he here illegally? If so, we should carry out the death sentence immediately. Unless you are above your own laws?"

Continuing to hold G'Kar back, Londo glared at Durla. "He is a _guest_. _My guest_. And he will remain my guest for as long as it pleases me. Touch him, and your wives will see your head grace a pike next to the President of the Centaurum."

This last comment seemed to quell Durla momentarily because he brushed the lint from his lapels before glaring at G'Kar. "It is my duty to remind you, Majesty, that if his lizard skin touches the ground outside the palace walls, my men will have to enforce the penalty assigned to an alien on Centauri Prime, unaccompanied by his slave papers." Durla turned on his heel, a smirk on his face as he exited the room, followed by his soldiers.

"Let me give you a set of papers to carry on your person," Londo begged G'Kar.

"You have known me long enough to know my answer to that," G'Kar replied.

Londo's voice fell, "Your visits to Centauri Prime have not inspired confidence in some of my people. You are lucky my guards did not kill you. Now, will you be sensible and take the papers?"

"I will die a free man," G'Kar said quietly.

"I'm not asking you to be a slave, G'Kar, I'm asking you to carry them to protect your life."

"My answer is the same."

Bringing his fist down hard on his desk, Londo swore. " _Great Maker!_ You are making this hard!"

G'Kar gestured toward the royal guards. "I hear they are new. Maybe you could use a bodyguard?"

At that, Londo laughed, the tension between them melting. Patting G'Kar on the shoulder, he said, "I used to have one. He was very good." Nodding at G'Kar, he added, "It is good to see you, even if you have the timing of a broken watch and the stubbornness of an ass."

* * *

A few hours later, Phylakios entered the throne room, surprised to see his wife, son, and the Empress waiting nearby.

"Thank you for coming," Londo gestured to Phylakios's wife. "If you will kindly wait outside," he glanced at the door, and the royal guards escorted her and her son out of the throne room.

Londo picked up his coutari again as G'Kar and Timov watched silently from the wings of the room.

The Emperor circled Phylakios ominously before he approached the royal soldier. "The Captain of Empress's guards and the Lord Master of the Door," Londo said slowly. "I have not seen you here in some time. Have you been shirking your duties?"

"No, Majesty," Phylakios glanced at the door through which his wife and son had disappeared, nervous about the Emperor's intentions.

"Good, good," Londo said, a dangerous tone evident in his voice. He pulled the slave papers from his waistcoat. "These mysteriously appeared today. It is, _at the least_ , a security concern, is it not?"

Phylakios glanced at the papers, his eyes meeting G'Kar's momentarily.

"The problem," Londo said, shaking the papers, "with a slave is they always have another master. I told Timov years ago to cancel this contract, and she never did so." He glanced at Timov, whose stared resolutely back at him. "And now, I wonder, if I command you to do something, will you bow to my will, as all citizens of the Centauri Republic are bound to do, or will you bow to your mistress's will instead of mine?"

"All citizens are servants of the Emperor," Phylakios said, his face growing whiter.

Londo circled Phylakios again before pointing at the door though which Phylakios's wife and son had disappeared. "Some years ago, I gave you a very specific mission, Phylakios. Do you recall what it was?"

"I have never forgotten," Phylakios fell to his knees, ready to beg for the lives of his wife and child. "You made my duties _very_ clear."

Londo leaned down toward the man, "And it is yet your duty to carry it out." He gestured with the coutari. "It is good to have your family, yes? As every Centauri's family is important to him, your family is important to you, yes? You understand what will happen if my orders are not carried out?" Londo asked him grimly, his eyes cold.

Phylakios blinked, "Yes, sire."

"Good." Londo took Phylakios' papers and ripped them up as he glanced at Timov, letting them drift to the ground in front of Phylakios. "By royal decree, your contract to House Alghul is now cancelled. You are a free man, and you report to no one, now, but _me_. I am the Emperor, and you will carry out your duty to me. Do you understand?"

Phylakios bowed his head.

"Very well," Londo returned the coutari to its place on the wall.

"What are you doing?" G'Kar hissed at Londo. "The man has done nothing . . . ."

Ignoring him, Londo gestured to Timov to stand before him.

With a sigh, Timov silently faced her husband.

"You have violated my trust, Timov, and a price must be paid. In light of your service to your county, I will not place your head upon the pike next to Toscaneli, but the price must be paid nonetheless. Tonight, Phylakios will escort you from the palace under the guise of nightfall. He will take you to a secluded place. And before the night is out, you will find a swift end." He pointed at Phylakios and the royal guards around him, "I do not wish it publicized. I will spare Timov's honor in the matter. After all, she served as Emperor these past few weeks. I will announce to the public that she has taken ill again, and she will be spared the humiliation of her dishonor. Do you understand?"

Phylakios glanced at Londo with confusion, but he bowed his head again, "Yes, Majesty."

"Londo—" Timov tried to interrupt.

"—Silence," he cut her off with a pointed stare. Turning back to Phylakios, he said, "I will require evidence that you have completed your task. Bring it to me, and your wife and child will be free to go, and you will have earned your royal pension and your freedom."

Finally, he approached Timov, but words seem to fail him. The silence stretched on between them until she leaned into his ear, intending only him to hear. "I forgive you," she whispered. "Take care of our Senna."

Londo stepped back wordlessly, gesturing to Phylakios to take her away before he turned his back on the sight of her departure.

As the guards accompanied her to the door, Londo suddenly turned back to her. " _Oureiariouro re eusaulo_ ," he called after her.

Phylakios stopped immediately, and the royal guards stared at the Emperor. G'Kar glanced at the Centauri, wondering what the words could mean.

"Londo, no—" Timov protested, but he gestured again to Phylakios.

"Take her," he said, and Phylakios and the guards dragged the protesting Empress from the room.


	36. Keeping Up Appearances

G'Kar watched Londo carefully after the Empress had been dragged from their sight. Londo's face was grim, and he gestured for G'Kar to follow him back to his office. When they reached the expansive office, the door closed, but still Londo said nothing.

"I knew you didn't like your wives, but this seems a bit much . . . even for you," G'Kar said, but Londo did not reply.

Londo sat down wearily at his desk, staring at it blankly for several minutes. At last, he opened his desk drawer and took out a vial. "G'Kar," he said, handing the vial over, "would you do me a favor and take this down to Timov before she departs with Phylakios? She will be in great pain without her daily injection. I would spare her unnecessary pain," he said as his brow furrowed.

G'Kar wordlessly stared at the vial, taken aback at the events he had witnessed. "Mollari—" he began.

"Please," Londo said quietly. "She will be missing it already. I cannot go – you must give it to her. My personal guards will take you to her cell."

"Cannot or will not?" G'Kar asked.

"Both," Londo replied somberly. "Will you take it?"

"I know you are a stubborn man," G'Kar replied, "but there is another option . . . ."

Londo stared at G'Kar. "You do not understand. There is no other option. This was never going to end well for one or both of us since the day I became emperor. I cannot rescind this order." His head dropped and a measure of sadness seemed to seize him.

G'Kar pondered this but decided not to press Mollari. Instead, he asked, "What did you say to her – just before she left?"

Londo sighed, "It was . . . a goodbye." He frowned deeply before handing G'Kar the vial.

G'Kar took the proffered vial and turned on his heel, following a royal guard down to the dungeon.

* * *

G'Kar found Timov in her personal cell, leaning awkwardly against the wall. He approached her slowly, and at last she turned and looked at him.

"Mollari asked me to give you this," he said, pulling out the vial of dexycylodox.

Timov reached out a hand slowly. She tried to grasp it, but it fell from her hand, and G'Kar retrieved it for her.

"Let me," He prepared the dexycylodox for the injection. While she watched, he found her vein and injected the vial, bringing her an instant gasp of relief.

Timov closed her eyes momentarily before they opened again. "Thank you," she said as she turned to look at G'Kar. "So you are here, G'Kar, the one who broke his chains. The Narn who served as Londo's bodyguard."

G'Kar sat down next to Timov. "Yes, and now Mollari has ordered your execution. I suspect it has something to do with your connection to the Resistance. Vir Cotto told me you and the Princess Senna have been instrumental in assisting their efforts."

"Yes," Timov said. "I planned Londo's kidnapping some months ago. That plan, unfortunately, did not succeed. If it had . . ." she stopped, shaking her head sadly.

"Why would you kidnap Mollari?" G'Kar interrupted, puzzled.

"Surely you heard about his erratic behavior? We needed to know what was driving it. Unfortunately, it was much worse than anyone imagined. The order for my execution – especially after I blocked Minister Durla from becoming Prime Minister while Londo was ill - was inevitable," she said matter-of-factly. "But of course, that is why he has sent you to me."

"What do you mean?" G'Kar leaned closer.

Timov raised a hand and gestured at the renovated dungeon cell. "Londo can monitor activities at the ministries and in the palace from his throne or his office. But when he renovated this cell for my personal use, he never installed cameras in it. It is the only place he cannot see us – cannot hear us."

G'Kar narrowed his eyes, "I don't understand—"

"My husband sent you here," she gestured to the empty injection vial, "not only to administer my daily injection, but so that we could talk freely - so that I could tell you about the Drakh that are holding him hostage."

"You mean you _just_ found out about them?" G'Kar said, his eyes opening wider in surprise.

Timov looked sharply at the Narn. " _You_ know about them?"

"I came into some information that suggested they might be living in the caves underneath Centauri Prime," G'Kar replied. "It is what brought me to Centauri Prime. When I arrived, I helped Vir Cotto and Phylakios plan the dismantling of the fusion bombs that they placed on the surface - the ones on the map that Mollari gave to Phylakios."

"They live _beneath_ us?" Timov said, shocked. "Of course, I suppose it makes sense they would have to live somewhere. But - the fusion bombs are dismantled?" Timov put an emotional hand to her chest.

"Yes," G'Kar told her. "And the Resistance is poised to move against the Drakh living in Centauri Prime's cave systems whenever the moment is right."

"Londo needs to know," Timov said. "If only you could find a way to tell him . . . ."

"What do you mean?" G'Kar asked. "I can tell him when we are alone."

Timov gave him an odd look. "You don't know about the keeper, do you?" Timov asked.

"Keeper? G'Kar asked.

"I know it sounds incredible, unbelievable even, but there's a Drakh parasite that sits on his shoulder, invisible to the naked eye."

"A Drakh appendage that can manipulate light," G'Kar whispered as he rocked back, thinking back to his encounter on Seti IV and recalling the remains of the man who had been attacked around his neck and Dr. Franklin's observations about the appendage they had found.

"Yes, that might be how it remains invisible," Timov stared at G'Kar. "It telegraphs his every move, his every conversation to the Drakh Entire. It is integrated into his nervous system - in an instant, it can cause him agony. And even though it cannot sense his thoughts, it can read his heartrate, his excitement, his fear."

"When was it attached?" G'Kar asked.

"When he became emperor," Timov replied. Quickly, she told G'Kar about Durla and his complicity with the Drakh, the bargain she had made when Londo suffered his heart attack, and the findings of the doctors at the hospital. "Londo doesn't have much time," she said. "There are threats inside the royal court from people that sense a new emperor will be named in the next few years, and threats from outside -the Drakh Entire and the IA if they find out about the Drakh's presence."

"Why the IA?" G'Kar stiffened.

Timov stared blankly at him, "The same reason he has not publicly announced the Drakh's presence before his keeper could severe his spine and kill him – he is terrified the IA will find out the Drakh are here. If the other worlds find out, they will stop at nothing to destroy the Drakh, and our people will perish as collateral damage, the living shields of the Drakh. Londo won't let that happen. The keeper was insurance for them, but to be honest, they never needed it to control him. The complete destruction of our people was more than enough to prevent him from revealing their presence."

G'Kar leaned back against the wall, regarding Timov as he considered the message he sent with Talia to Sheridan. _And yet_ , G'Kar considered, _he had heard nothing from Sheridan._ Although unlikely, it was possible, G'Kar thought, that Sheridan had not taken any action because the IA was planning a direct strike.

"G'Kar," Timov clasped her hands with uneasiness, "will you look after Londo? His lost memories of the Drakh have been restored, but his mind is still crumbling under the damage of this parasite—this keeper, as they call it. He is a hostage, alone in this palace, and he is the only thing that stands between our people and destruction. He could use someone to look out for him, to ensure he isn't stabbed in the back, to ensure he remembers what is important."

"I will," G'Kar replied solemnly. "He will not be alone. But if the Drakh have spent this long in hiding, what could they be planning?" he asked.

"They want to decimate the Alliance, get their revenge on the Centauri, and instill the misguided philosophy of the Shadows," Timov said matter-of-factly. "They have been building our war engine for decades, and I think they are ready to move if the right situation presents itself."

"Now that the bombs are dismantled," G'Kar shook his head in thought, "and the Resistance is ready to detonate the passages underneath Centauri Prime in a unified strike at a moment's notice, your people are no longer in danger. If we can remove the keeper, we can detonate the bombs, and . . . .'

"Without the Drakh's compliance, you cannot remove the Keeper."

"If only I hadn't been stopped from seeing him at Vir's estate," G'Kar growled in frustration as he hand curled into a fist.

"Even if you could remove Londo's keeper," Timov told him, "the Drakh still control the Defense Grid. In less than 24 hours, they can destroy the entire surface of Centauri Prime by turning our own defense grid on our people."

"The defense grid?" G'Kar said, shocked.

"Yes," Timov told him. "The Drakh are not unintelligent. They have taken careful precautions - and as a result, they hold all the cards. In addition to the bombs they placed, they cracked our Defense Grid. You must tell Vir and Senna when you have the opportunity. I will inform Phylakios when we leave the palace."

"Then surely," G'Kar suggested, "Phylakios will spare your life?"

Timov tipped her chin up, the mark of a woman who had her mind made. "Londo clearly threatened Phylakios's family. Phylakios has served both my family and the Crown honorably, and I will not ask him to put his wife and son's lives in danger. No, for once, Londo has aptly read the situation. If the Drakh are demanding my death, he has absolutely no choice in the matter. One life in exchange for our people's very survival? It is a devil's bargain – but one he must make - even if he must make it over and over again."

Timov looked at her hands. "It is true that Londo was very angry at me over Senna's marriage. I think he let all of his frustration and rage out on Toscaneli, and I wonder, G'Kar, if his impetuousness in that matter will come back to haunt him. But in my hearts, I am convinced that he channeled that anger into a decent performance for a very different audience. In another life, he might have made quite a good actor."

"What was it – that phrase he said to you?" G'Kar asked curiously. "He told me that it was a goodbye."

Timov lifted her eyebrows in surprise. "It _was_ a goodbye – of sorts. He uttered a very famous phrase in ancient Centauri. I am no storyteller like my husband, G'Kar, but when our first emperor, Emperor Toscano, was uniting the tribes on the Great Plain of Centauri Prime, there was one last king who stood in his way of creating a vast empire, and Toscano hunted that king and his tribe down, killing tribal members as he caught them, one-by-one. When, at last, he caught up to this rebelling king, the king said, ' _Oureiariouro re eusaulo_.' It is difficult to translate into standard, but it means something along the lines of, 'In exchange for the lives of my people, I give you my head.' Every child on Centauri Prime can repeat it to you – but it is unlikely the Drakh understood it or apprehend its importance because it is unrecognizable in modern Centauri."

G'Kar stared hard at Timov. "Why would he say that?"

Timov pursed her lips, "It was a message – to me, to the other Centauri listening – and I think, perhaps especially for you. I think he means that if it requires bombing the palace and him along with it, then he wants his people freed at whatever cost may come to him, personally. And he wants me to tell Phylakios or anyone else I can about the Drakh before-"

"-Before you are executed," G'Kar said grimly. "But why do you think the message is for me?"

"You are in Londo's death dream," Timov said matter-of-factly.

G'Kar looked at the floor as he thought of the dream he had seen through the Dust assault so many year before, "I know that I appear in Mollari's death dream. But we Narn do not believe in such things."

"And yet you are here," Timov said pointedly. "To tell you the truth, there are a number of Centauri who don't really believe in their death dreams."

"And what about you?" G'Kar asked her curiously.

"The difficult thing about a death dream is by the time you know whether it has, in fact, come true, you cannot tell anyone. So, no one knows if our dreams really tell of our deaths or not. They simply are. Every Centauri must decide whether to believe them or not. You mustn't take Londo's views as representative of our race, there are many who do not believe in their death dreams and just as many who don't know what to make of them. But Londo – he will be very pleased that he is nearing the closing chapter of his life, and you have miraculously shown up on Centauri Prime," she shook her head with a smile. "He will be beside himself that he wasn't able to make money off of this bet."

At the sound of footsteps, Timov stood up, ensuring her flowing dress was unwrinkled as she turned toward G'Kar one last time. "That will be Phylakios coming to get me," she said with composure. "I'm afraid our time is up, G'Kar. I am sorry we were not able to meet under better circumstances," she took his gloved hand and squeezed it for a long moment. "I say this with the greatest of sincerity – gods' speed on your mission, G'Kar."

G'Kar raised his fists to his chest in a Narn salute as Phylakios appeared in the doorway, and G'Kar met his eyes for a brief moment before the soldier bowed to the Empress, "Majesty," he swept a hand toward the door.

"What was _your_ death dream?" G'Kar called out to Timov just before she passed through the door.

Turning back, her blue eyes flashed, "I die alone," she said matter-of-factly before disappearing through the door.

* * *

Londo stalked his darkened quarters, spinning to face Shiv'kala.

"You _can't_ kill him," Londo said, extending one pleading hand. "G'Kar is the _only thing_ standing between Centauri Prime and Narn bombs. Your people will die the same as mine if they rain their firepower down on us."

"And what do you propose that we do with him?" the Drakh rasped at the Emperor.

"He will stay here in the palace where he can transmit periodic communications to his people," Londo said emphatically. "You heard what he said in the message. If he does not transmit a new message every week, he is to be considered dead, and the Narn forces will unleash their cannons on us – on Centauri Prime. There is no doubt in my mind, if you kill him, we will have a full scale war with the Narn. Is that what you want?"

Shiv'kala narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed by the situation. "We will consider your counsel," the Drakh said warily. "But we do not wish to allow the Narn's presence here forever . . . ."

"Why not?" Londo asked. "His presence – his _life_ – is critical to ensuring the Narn retreat from our boundaries. What harm can one Narn do when he is surrounded by Centauri and under observation by your people?"

Shiv'kala listened silently.

"You must keep Durla away from him," Londo told the Drakh pointedly. "If G'Kar dies . . . there will be a great deal of bloodshed. He is as a prophet to his people."

Shiv'kala grimaced and disappeared into the darkness.

Londo fell into the closest chair, letting out a sigh of relief and wiping the sweat from his brow. "It is not so fun, is it?" He glanced at his shoulder, "to be given no choice in a matter, hmm?"

* * *

That evening, in the moonlight, Phylakios turned to the Empress. "Your Majesty, it is time. I am truly sorry for what I must do."

"It is your duty," she replied. "And I would not put your family at risk. It must be done – let there be no more apologies. I am ready for what is to come."

Phylakios unsheathed his coutari. "The cut will be easier if you extend your head."

Timov complied, and for a brief moment, the moonlight danced off the polished silver of Phylakios's coutari before it sliced through the evening air.


	37. The Firm Hand at the Helm

**The next morning...**

G'Kar watched Londo pacing back and forth in his office.

"You will need new floors before long if you keep this up," G'Kar told him, gesturing toward the marble floor.

Londo stopped at his wet bar and poured himself a shot of brivari, throwing it back before pouring another. "Would you like one?" he asked G'Kar.

"It's 10 a.m., Mollari," G'Kar sat back in an overstuffed Centauri chair.

"You sound like Timov," Mollari muttered.

"You look like you haven't slept all night," G'Kar's eyes moved back and forth as he watched the Emperor. Londo flung a hand out in dismissal of G'Kar's comment, but his ragged appearance confirmed G'Kar's suspicions.

"Papa," Senna burst into Londo's private study, "where is the Empress? I stopped by her quarters, and her bed hasn't been slept in, and no one servicing the royal suite has seen her this morning."

"Senna . . . ." Londo put up his palms, a stunned look on his face.

Senna glanced from Londo to G'Kar and back again. "Is she in the dungeon?" Senna asked suspiciously. "Papa, you _cannot_ keep her there again! She was only trying to help – to help _you_. She didn't trust the Minister of Defense, so she was buying _you_ time. You can't blame her for what happened. If anything, it was _my_ fault. I'm the one who agreed to marry Toscaneli."

Mollari sputtered, unable to summon words.

"Papa," Senna stepped closer, " _where_ is she?" She didn't like what she saw in Londo's anguished expression, and she paused, realization dawning. Pleading, she said, "Tell me, at least, that she is in the dungeon."

Mollari looked at the floor, a grim look on his face.

"How _could_ you?" Senna whispered to him, horrified. "How could you do that to Timov – after everything she has done for you? Is this who you are?" Tears filled Senna's eyes and her chin trembled as she glanced at G'Kar. "It isn't the first time that you've had someone killed, though, is it? Is it as easy for you to command executions as it was for Cartagia - on a whim? Yesterday, you killed the President of the Centaurum. And years ago, you ordered my real father killed." She glanced at G'Kar. "Is this one of the Narn who helped you do it?"

Londo and G'Kar exchanged silent glances, but Senna saw it and she cried, "You did!"

"No, of course not. G'Kar had nothing to do with it," Londo lied, trying to calm her down. "It was a Narn mob that killed Refa."

Senna stepped backward, clapping a hand over her mouth in horror as anger bubbled in her chest. She let her hand fall, but rage blazed in her eyes, "You aren't fit to wear the white! You aren't fit to lead our people as emperor! I thought you had changed from the man who killed my father. I gave you the benefit of the doubt – for all these years. And now, you've done it all over again," she shuddered, brushing away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. "You _never_ deserved her. You don't deserve _anyone_." Senna turned for the door.

"Senna, wait!" Londo called out to her.

Senna did not turn or stop, and the two guards at the door stepped into her path, silently blocking her exit.

She spun on her heel, "Will you keep me as a prisoner here, too?"

"Senna, please, I would _never_ —"

"—Just as you would _never_ keep Timov prisoner? _Never_ order her execution?"

Londo's mouth snapped and he frowned deeply. At last, he gestured to the guards to step aside. "Let her go," he said quietly, unable to meet her blazing eyes any further.

Senna stormed out of the room, her eyes red with tearful anger.

"Well," G'Kar called out to Londo with a frown, "that was awkward."

Londo slammed his fist into his desk and took the closest object – a handcrafted crystal seal of the Republic – and shattered it against the opposite wall. Londo dropped himself into his chair, breathing hard in frustration.

"I heard that you had adopted Refa's daughter, and I wondered how well that would—"

At the brisk sound of boots snapping together, the heads of Londo and G'Kar both turned, and standing at the door was Phylakios. In his hands, he held before him a small inlaid wooden box, and he offered it toward the Emperor as he bowed.

Londo pushed himself out of his chair, taking a moment to calm himself before he slowly approached the box. "This is the proof I asked for?" he asked.

Phylakios nodded once in agreement as Londo reticently came nearer.

Londo stared at the box for some time before he finally nodded. "All right," he said pensively.

Phylakios flipped the clasp and lifted the box's lid for the Emperor to see.

G'Kar stood nearby, craning his head to see what was in the box.

There, laid gently on the velvet was a ponytail of gray hair accompanied by a delicate pinky finger, a lady's signet ring depicting the House of Alghul still attached to it.

Londo immediately pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over his nose and mouth, trying to prevent himself from gagging. Finally, with his free hand, he gestured at Phylakios to close the box. Putting his handkerchief away, he looked ill, but he flipped a communication switch on his desk and sent for the Royal Physician.

The three men waited in grim silence until the Royal Physician arrived, holding a small device in his hand. Londo looked at the doctor and jerked his head toward the box. Once again, Phylakios opened the box, and G'Kar noticed that this time, Londo couldn't even look at the contents.

The physician scanned the severed finger, and a digital file appeared on a tiny monitor on his device. The physician frowned at the screen but returned to the Emperor, showing him the monitor. "There is no question – it is the Empress's DNA, Majesty."

Londo dismissed the doctor, telling him, "You will tell no one of this."

As the doctor departed, Phylakios closed and latched the lid, still holding it reverently in both hands.

"The deed is done, then," Londo said, his voice strained, "You may take the box to her unmarked grave. The Crown thanks you for your service these past years, Phylakios. I suppose you will return home and enjoy a well-deserved respite with your family?"

"Not quite yet, Your Majesty. I have _duties elsewhere_ that will keep me busy," Phylakios gently emphasized the words.

The Emperor trembled, his knees suddenly weak, "Did you say duties _elsewhere_?" he murmured.

Phylakios nodded. "Yes, Majesty. "

Tears filled Londo's eyes, and he grasped Phylakios shoulder, speechless. When he recovered himself, he jerked his head toward the box and whispered, "Was it painless?"

"As painless as possible, Majesty," Phylakios replied tactfully.

Londo was lost for words, but he turned for his wet bar, regaining his voice. "I would like to have a drink with you," he said, suddenly determined.

"With apologies, Your Majesty, it would not reflect well on the royal guards to be inebriated at the palace," Phylakios replied.

"No," Londo frowned, letting go of the brivari decanter he had picked up reluctantly, "I suppose not."

Londo jerked his head toward the door, "I know I offered you a pension yesterday, Phylakios, but today I-I find I am still in need of your service."

Phylakios tugged his uniform into place. "It is my honor, Majesty. How may I serve the Crown?"

Londo had a haunted look in his eyes, "Senna is understandably angry with me. I think she is planning to leave the palace, and she could get into trouble very quickly. You still command her security detail as well as Vir's - and you must ensure she doesn't do anything rash. The Princess may come and go as she likes - as long as she takes her security detail with her if she leaves the palace grounds."

"Understood. I will see to it, Majesty."

Londo patted the soldier on the arm, his face falling as he glanced at the box again. "Thank you, Phylakios, for your service."

Phylakios tucked the box under his arm and snapped his heels together, bowing, before he disappeared out the door.

* * *

Inside the Princess's carriage, Phylakios sat stiffly next to the Princess, stoic and silent until they had left the gates.

"What are you carrying?" Senna turned to Phylakios, squinting at the box he had tucked under his arm. "May I?" she gestured to it.

"Your Highness," he turned to her, "I would not recommend—"

Senna had already taken the box from him and she ran her fingers over the ornate lid before she abruptly unlocked the clasp. As it opened, she gasped, staring at Phylakios. " _Oh gods!_ "

Phylakios snatched the box back, closing it quickly. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, fumbling with the latch.

"Phylakios," she grasped his sleeve. "Where is she?"

"Her Majesty?" Phylakios asked.

"Yes," Senna said, "Where is her body? I would like to pay my respects."

"I-I . . . " he mumbled.

"I _order_ you, Phylakios, to take me to see her body," Senna said, pleading. "I just want to say goodbye. Please . . . ."

Phylakios looked into Senna's pleading eyes. "I will take you to her place of rest," he said, bowing his head.

Senna instructed the carriage pilots to alter their course, and within a short time, they found themselves on the lawn of the Great House.

Senna walked slowly behind Phylakios, but when the door opened to the Great House and swung shut behind her, her tears turned to joy when she heard a familiar voice call out to her, "Oh, child!"

* * *

 **The previous night ...**

The Empress debarked from the royal carriage with a grim but determined look on her face, and Phylakios dutifully escorted her into the dark of the Centauri countryside.

"I suppose you will do it here," Timov said, stopping abruptly as they left the sight of the carriage.

"Yes, I'm sorry about all of this," Phylakios told her.

She turned and faced the royal soldier. "There are a few things I need to tell you before you fulfill your duty." She launched into the story of the Drakh, filling Phylakios in on the details so he could pass them along to the rest of the Resistance, their only hope for defeating the Drakh.

Phylakios gasped at the admission that the Drakh had infiltrated their planet and taken their Emperor as a pawn, "At last we know what has been behind Emperor Mollari's madness – and his orders make more sense now."

"You mean why he ordered you to kill me? Yes, that is why." Timov shook her head in disgust at the thought of the Drakh.

"His Majesty never ordered me to kill you," Phylakios revealed.

Timov's sharp blue eyes tried to read his meaning as she briskly addressed him, "I'm not going senile, Phylakios, I was standing there in the throne room, just as you were."

"His Majesty's instructions were not as clear cut as he made them seem," Phylakios replied. "He was engaged in two conversations - the first was for my ears alone, and the second for everyone else."

"Don't be absurd," Timov sputtered.

"Let me recount the meeting with the Emperor from my perspective, Majesty, and then you may judge for yourself," he told her quietly.

"Go on, then." Although she questioned the sanity of his words, Timov respected Phylakios, and she listened intently.

"His Majesty made it clear that he wanted his wishes followed, subject to no one else, and he ripped up my contract," Phylakios said.

"Yes," Timov agreed, "he made his wishes on that topic clear enough."

Phylakios stretched out his gloved hand toward the direction of Porto in the distances. "Years ago, when he sent you, the Princess, and the Royal Adjutant from the palace, he placed your well-being in my care. I remember how extraordinary his order was because he authorized me to act _independently_ of the palace – it meant, of course, that I was to operate independently _of him_ \- to ensure your safety. He told me your safety was my primary mission, _even if it meant contradicting his orders_. So, when he asked me if I remembered my mission from so many years ago now - how could I forget it?"

Taken aback at Phylakios' words, Timov murmured, "Of course, an emperor's commands continue until he rescinds them."

"Yes," Phylakios continued. "And during the meeting in the palace, once he had reminded me of it, His Majesty said that it was _still_ my duty to carry out that mission."

"You never told me about this order before," Timov glanced at Phylakios.

Phylakios clasped his hands behind him. "As Emperor Mollari said – it is difficult to serve two masters."

"But he _threatened_ your family," Timov added pointedly.

" _Then_ he mentioned that _every_ Centauri's family is important to them," Phylakios interjected. "I think by saying every Centauri's family was important that he was trying to emphasize that his family was as important to him as mine is to me."

Timov pointed at Phylakios's chest, "But I clearly heard him tell you to kill—"

"—No, he told _you_ , Majesty, what would happen to you. He never directed an order to kill you to _me_ or the other royal guards. He ordered us to keep a secret concerning your whereabouts. And then, he merely said he required evidence that you had been killed."

Timov stared, stunned. The resolution and bravery she had shown at the prospect of her own death crumbled away, and she brought her hands to her face as she sobbed at last, a wave of emotion overwhelming her.

"Even after everything that has happened," she whispered, "he is still fighting - he hasn't given up."

Phylakios stood quietly as Timov's tears fell into the grass, and finally, he put his arms gently around the diminutive empress, allowing her to stain his uniform with her tears.

"Great Maker," Timov pulled back and brushed away her tears with embarrassment. "I—I thought it was to be my last night on Centauri Prime, and I thought I could hold it together. But it appears I am reduced to a leaking wreck."

"The gods did not have you fated to leave us so soon," Phylakios offered. "Besides, His Majesty gave you orders as well," Phylakios told her.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Timov tipped her chin up.

"His Majesty told you – ' _Oureiariouro re eusaulo.'_ He wants you to lead the Resistance against the Drakh. He knows that everyone has competing allegiances and interests, but the Crown is the one thing that binds all Centauri together. You and Princess Senna have been the only reasons we have been able to organize the South and beyond to support resistance efforts. You are critical to our success. If we must fight the Drakh, we need someone – a symbol – to unite us – just as you united us against the unknown madness seizing the emperor, now you must unite us against the known darkness of the Drakh."

Timov shook her head, trying to clear away the remaining tears. "Phylakios, enough of this talk, you could be putting your family in jeopardy if you do not take him my head, and I won't be a party to it."

"I thank you for that, Empress Timov, but as clear as his message was to everyone else in the room, his message to me was equally clear. His Majesty has shown, repeatedly, that he cares very much for you, and I suspect anyone who lifts a blade against you will be subject to His Majesty's wrath – and he would probably find his head sitting on a pike next to the President of the Centaurum. I will wager my life on what I believe His Majesty ordered me to do – and what not to do – in the throne room."

Timov bit her lip, "But how can you deliver the evidence that I've died?"

Phylakios stared at the ground, "That is where things get difficult. The only evidence that would convince the Drakh that you are dead is a body part. But _which_ body part, I leave to you. I'm afraid there is no alternative to that."

Timov clasped her hands and closed her eyes in thought. "I prefer my hair shorn short, but some years ago, Senna talked me into growing a ponytail in the style of other Centauri women. If we cut it," she ran her hand over her smooth head to the Centauri ponytail gathered at the back of her skull, "he will know it is mine."

"A good idea and a perfect finishing touch," Phylakios offered gently, "but that will not convince the Drakh of your death. You must provide something you would could not part with so easily."

Timov glanced at her hands. "But I am actually attached to all of my limbs," she said dreading losing any of them. She thought a moment, turning toward the practicalities of the situation. "They say you need your toes for balance, and I'd rather not lose anything larger - not an ear or a head - so I suppose a finger will do." For the first time in a long while, she smiled as she turned to Phylakios, "Do you think Londo would get the message if I sent him a middle finger?"

Phylakios chuckled, "I think you would place His Majesty in a difficult position – how could he contain his reaction to such a gesture?"

"Oh, all right," Timov said, her smile fading. "You will cut my ponytail first and then we'll get on with it and sever a finger. Better than my head, I suppose. I just need a moment to compose myself."

After a few minutes, Phylakios glanced at the time, knowing he needed to make the long journey back before nightfall. "Your Majesty, it is time. I am truly sorry for what I must do."

"It is your duty," she replied. "And I would not put your family at risk. It must be done – let there be no more apologies. I am ready for what is to come."

Phylakios unsheathed his coutari. "The cut will be easier if you extend your head."

Timov complied, and for a brief moment, the moonlight danced off the polished silver of Phylakios's coutari before it sliced through the evening air, severing the gray pony tail.

Phylakios retrieved the ponytail, arranging it in the box her had brought.

"Quickly," Timov told him, extending her pinky, "before I lose my nerve."

She looked away, and the coutari swiftly fell again, a perfectly placed strike that severed her pinky from her hand.

Phylakios immediately wound a bandage around her palm to help stop the bleeding. "The other guards," he told her, "will take you wherever you would like to go. They are my hand-picked men. But we must find a safe place for you. You are the most recognizable women on Centauri Prime, and we must keep you hidden to ensure your life."

Timov squeezed her bloody hand, trying not to think of the pain throbbing where her pinky used to be. "Take me to the Great House of House Mollari."

"Not the residence of House Alghul?"

"Absolutely not," Timov said, determined. "I prefer an empty Great House to House Alghul. Imagine me trying to keep that lot in some semblance of order after all these years – it is almost too much to imagine! And anyway, Londo hasn't visited the Great House in years, and I know I can count on the allegiance of everyone there. It is guarded like a fortress in case Londo decides, on a whim, to return, which he won't," she said matter-of-factly. "The Great House will be far more secure than my family's estate. And my presence there will be aided by Londo's cover story that I am receiving treatment for my illness. If our neighbors find out that I have returned, I can confide in them that I am ill and request their assistance in keeping my whereabouts private from the press, and they will keep my secret - the neighbors have tangled with me in the past and lost. And I suspect, given what has happened over the past few years and in particular the past few weeks, it would not be as safe at Vir's estate."

"It is true that you acted as Emperor, and many of the aliens, telepaths, and resistance fighters may be disappointed you did not make more changes in your brief tenure, but they understand the role you have played these many years. I can assure you that all of them will follow your orders, and I will ensure wherever you go is safe, Majesty."

Timov inclined her head, "Thank you, Phylakios. I think, for now, the best place will be at the Great House."

Phylakios bowed low, "As you wish."

Timov stopped him with a hand, "Please – I understand we must maintain the fiction that I am dead – but if you have the chance to tell Londo . . . ."

"He can never know, Majesty," Phylakios said resolutely. "It would mean your life, his life, and my life."

Timov looked up, unable to meet Phylakios in the eye. "I know, but it isn't quite fair, is it? After all these years and all that he has been through - to let him think that you didn't get his covert message – to let him think there is a chance that I am dead . . . ."

Phylakio's face was the image of stone, "It is the way it must be, Majesty. He _cannot_ know."

"But if the opportunity arises—"

"If the opportunity presents itself," Phylakios reassured her, "I will try to inform him. But my foremost duty is to ensure your safety, not to inform His Majesty when the mere act of telling him could put you in danger."

Timov tightened her grip around her injured hand, "No, of course not," she said, sniffing. "I suppose I had better get going. Now that we know about the Drakh, there is no time for idleness and a great deal of work to be done."

From the tone of her voice, Phylakios knew that the firm hand at the helm of the Centauri resistance had returned, more determined than ever.


	38. Tremors

In the days and weeks that followed, G'Kar watched the Emperor's behavior closely, seeing Mollari's desolation over the recent events with his family. As he watched Mollari numbly brooding and drinking away his time, G'Kar wondered how long the Emperor had been in the spiral of depression. Upon hearing from Emanio that the Emperor seemed to be more lively since his arrival, G'Kar became even more concerned, and he considered the sag in Mollari's shoulders and the long years that Mollari's spirit had been crushed under the hand of the Drakh. It was time, G'Kar decided, to do something about it.

"Do you remember," G'Kar asked Londo that evening, "our last conversation? Before I came back?"

Londo sipped his brivari in silence before answering reluctantly. "Of course I remember it. I've often wondered if I should have pulled you from the wreckage after we were attacked – I rather think you would have liked being a martyr. Especially here – on Centauri Prime."

G'Kar snorted, shaking his head, "Do you remember that you prayed for me? For my future?"

 _"_ _Perhaps you do not understand as much as you think_ ," G'kar remember Mollari's words upon the occasion of their last meeting. _"Pray, that you never do, G'Kar. Pray that you never truly understand."_

"I—" Mollari's eyes widened.

G'Kar returned Mollari's earnest stare. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your prayers were not answered."

Londo blinked twice. "So," he coughed, " _that_ is why you have come back to Centauri Prime?" He waited a moment before added, "to taunt me because I was wrong?"

G'Kar knew Mollari understood the significance of his words – and that he was trying to cover any part of their conversation that the Drakh might understand. "As good of a reason as any," G'Kar inclined his head with a smile. "Besides, I needed better dinner companions. It is rather tiresome to have followers hanging on my every word, begging for philosophical tidbits at every turn. But I know you don't listen to _anyone_ , let alone me, so it seemed the perfect respite from my life on Narn."

Now it was Mollari who snorted good-naturedly, before his face turned serious. "I wish you had not come," he said candidly. "And yet," he swallowed hard, "I am glad of your presence."

* * *

Senna had been shocked and delighted by Timov's presence at the Great House, but she was dismayed by the Empress's sudden physical deterioration as soon as her daily injections stopped. Although the Emperor had been able to save Timov's life, he could not arrange for her injections to be sent from the palace to House Mollari without raising the Drakh's suspicion, and with the supply of dexycylodox being impossibly difficult to come by, the Empress's ability to manage the pain of her condition continued to deteriorate at an alarming rate.

"I'll bring back the supply from the palace," Senna begged Timov to let her take the supply being stockpiled in her absence.

"No," Timov said, a finger resting on her temple. "It would place a great many people in jeopardy. I will manage without it."

But the Empress was clearly affected by the absence of her injections, for almost as soon as she had arrived at the Great House, her energy had waned and her step had slowed, and now, Senna found her resting in bed most of the day, her usual enthusiasm for diligence and promptness flagging.

"Thank you for staying with me," Timov told Senna. "It means a great deal to me."

"Of course," Senna squeezed her adopted mother's hand, "I wish you'd let me get your injections. It is . . ." she teared up, "difficult to see you in such pain – especially when it is treatable. I don't know who to blame – the gods, or the Interstellar Alliance, or Papa."

Timov thought for a moment before she replied. "You cannot retrieve the injections, but you should return to the palace, if only to make amends with Londo."

Senna twisted her hands and looked out the window at the manicured lawn of House Mollari. "I thought I had forgiven him years ago for what he did to my birth father, but what he did to you – what I _thought_ he had done to you - just brought up all these old memories and feelings."

Timov patted her hand, "Londo has perfected the ability of inducing exasperation in others. Trust me – I know it well," she smiled. "But forgiveness is not a landmark you arrive at, especially not in matters such as these, it is a path that you take. Londo is an imperfect man, Senna, but he does love you dearly."

"I suppose you are right, and it is time to tell him the news as well," Senna nodded. "And maybe you need a spy in the palace?" She broke into a smile.

Timov raised a finger in warning. "Neither Londo nor I want you staying in the palace permanently, Senna. _Now_ I understand why he was at his wits end trying to keep us away from the palace, and I feel much the same now that I know the danger that lurks inside its walls. I do not want you staying there, _especially_ now."

Senna smiled sadly, "Of course. I will just check in on him periodically. He mentioned when we were travelling to the Sea Palace that perhaps I could look after the Deradi children from time to time. After what happened to Traco, their mothers have shied away from the palace."

Timov's face turned grim at the thought of Traco's murder. "As long as they have a chaperone and are never left alone within the palace walls."

"Of course," Senna agreed. "Besides," her face brightened, "it seems I will need the practice."

Timov clasped Senna's hands, her face brightening. "At last," she said, "we have a little something to look forward to."

Senna smiled, patting her tummy, "A _very_ little something."

* * *

Palco grasped the message tighter in his gloved hand. He knew the Emperor would wish to see it immediately, and he made his way to Londo's office.

Seeing Palco's tense face, Londo waved him in. "Yes, what is it, Palco?"

"Majesty," he said breathlessly, "Princess Senna has returned."

It had been more than a month since her angry words after she thought Timov had been killed, and Londo immediately ordered the room cleared of his advisors, except G'Kar. "Bring her here," he instructed Palco.

Senna appeared in the doorway, and Londo immediately rose. "Senna," he said, sweeping his hand toward the room, inviting her in.

Senna twisted her hands nervously before her, trying to find the right words. "What happened . . . I have given it some thought, and I—" Senna's words faltered her. "—I received some council as well. What is done is done, and I don't want it to cause a wedge between us when you are the only family that I have left."

Londo crossed the room to her side. "I don't want it to cause a wedge between us, either," he told her softly. "I was angry, and I let it get the best of me."

"I know that you have to look after the country, and sometimes I disagree with what you do, but I know that the Empress would forgive you—"

"Oh?" Londo said, "I don't know about that. She wouldn't let something as transient as the veil of death prevent her from getting her revenge."

"Papa," Senna glared at his remark before returning to the matter at hand, "I thought I had forgiven you for my father's death, but the other day - it brought everything back again. I think I haven't been able to put it entirely behind me because – well, we never _really_ talked about it, did we?"

"What is there to say?" Londo tried to dismiss the topic. "It is in the past."

"I would like the details, Papa. I want to know _what happened_."

Londo shook his head, "Senna . . . ."

"It is my right to know," she said firmly.

"Mollari was not present," G'Kar interrupted, exchanging glances with Londo, " _physically_. But I was."

Seeing that G'Kar was going to tell her the story if he did not, Londo held up a hand, resigned, finally, to telling Senna the story. "House Mollari and House Refa were waging war at the time, and it could not continue. The Crown had made it clear that our feud had to end. I knew Lord Refa would try to find out what I had planned to win the favor of the Crown, and he walked into a trap that I had set for him."

"What trap?" Senna asked.

Londo rubbed his eyes with one hand, clearly reluctant to continue. "I told Vir that I was going to have G'Kar captured and executed on Narn. I instructed-" he met G'Kar's disapproving gaze, "- _forced_ Vir to take a story to G'Kar to lure him to the tunnels beneath the Kha'Ri's building on Narn. Lord Refa kidnapped Vir and used a telepath to drag my instructions from Vir's mind. Refa wanted to destroy me by capturing G'Kar – the last of the Kha'Ri - to claim his own victory."

Senna gasped, "You used _Vir_ to capture my father."

"Yes," Londo said matter-of-factly, "because Vir does not know how to lie, and so lying to him made it easier to persuade Refa of my plans."

"I don't understand who to be more angry with - you for what you did or Vir for never telling me his role." Senna sighed, "And anyway, I don't understand," she glanced at G'Kar confusedly, "You said your plan was to kill G'Kar . . . ."

"It is true that G'Kar and I did not end up killing each other," Londo added.

"Not yet, anyway," G'Kar said under his breath.

Ignoring G'Kar's remark, Londo continued, "When Lord Refa found out my plans to have G'Kar captured and executed, he decided to get there and follow through on my plans before I could. What he found, instead of G'Kar's head on a platter, was a horde of Narn angry over Refa's orders to bomb the Narn home world and establish Narn death camps. You see - I had never intended upon killing G'Kar, and I enlisted his help in turning the tables on Refa in the tunnels where he went to capture G'Kar."

Senna turned to G'Kar, horror in her eyes. "You were there, then? At his end?"

G'Kar nodded once. "I was there."

"How did he die?" she asked, holding back her anguish.

G'Kar recalled how Refa had run, the coward, from his fate at the hands of the Narn. He had clawed and scraped and begged, but the Narn crowd had overcome his protests with their knives, extinguishing his life in far less time and agony than he had deserved. "Bravely," G'Kar forced the word from his lips, knowing that the word of kindness would spare the young woman's feelings.

"Did you do it?" she asked G'Kar. "Did you strike a blow against him when he was helpless?"

"Senna-" Londo said in a warning tone.

"No," G'Kar said truthfully. "I did not strike a blow against your father."

Senna sat down, biting her lip as her jaw quivered. "I'm sorry about what he did," she said quietly to G'Kar. "I'm sorry he ordered your people to be killed. I'm sorry he tried to capture you and have you imprisoned and killed. When I was a little girl, I looked up to him, but now, I can see him for what he was, and I can understand _why_ it happened."

"You have no reason to apologize," G'Kar told her. "If anyone should apologize, it is Mollari and I." He glanced at the Emperor. "You have my apology, for what it is worth - though it can be hard to drag an apology from Mollari even under the best of circumstances."

Londo glared at G'Kar before he turned to Senna. "I _am_ sorry, Senna."

Senna stood up again, crossing the room to her adopted father and embracing him at last. "Then we shall leave it, _at last_ , in the past," she told him as she grasped his hand and held G'Kar's hand in her other. She turned to G'Kar. "I do not approve of the hate my birth father harbored for the Narn - due in great part to my education that was overseen by the Empress and the Emperor." She turned back to Londo, "And it is time to tell you both about something in the future."

"Future?" Londo asked.

"It's a long way off, but I thought you'd want to be among the first to know, the doctors detected . . . that is to say . . ." she shrugged with a smile.

Londo's eyes widened, "I am to be a grandfather?" he asked incredulously.

Senna nodded with a smile.

"Does, eh, does . . . _Vir_ know?" Londo asked pensively.

"Of course he _knows_ ," Senna shook her head with a laugh. "You are _among_ the first to know, but not _the first_."

G'Kar slapped Mollari on the back with a grin.

"But eh—" Londo stepped back, staring at Senna. "You must be married at once. The child cannot be born out wedlock. The noble houses are already unhappy, and they will eviscerate—"

"—Papa," Senna gently stopped him. "Of course, Vir and I plan on getting married, but you know how long Centauri gestation is – this baby is a long way off, and we don't want the tabloids and the media to make a circus out of our marriage or this child. Vir wants a small affair – just a few people."

"I don't care what Vir wants. He is not a princess of the Centauri Empire," Londo said with a huff.

"No one would _want_ Vir Cotto to be a princess of the Centauri Empire," G'Kar smirked as Londo shot him an annoyed look.

Senna bit her lip, thinking of Timov. "There are such politics around weddings, Papa. And the security and the guest list would be difficult to manage if it is a royal occasion."

"The guest list?" Londo furrowed his brow. "Yes, I suppose my presence will make it difficult," he said, his shoulders sagging again.

"You don't even _like_ weddings, Papa," Senna gently reminded him.

"No, and it is true that you should have the ceremony performed as soon as possible - we must prevent anything like what happened with Toscaneli." Londo looked at the ground with annoyance before a realization rocked him. "This child," he said, desperation creeping into his words, "if it is a boy—".

"—He would be in the line of succession to the throne once he is of age," G'Kar ascertained as he glanced at Senna.

"It is _not_ a boy," Senna placed her hand on Londo's arm to reassure him. "It is a girl. If Dius Vintari is of eligible age when the throne is once again vacant, he may rest assured that his position is not in jeopardy."

"You are sure?" Londo questioned her closely. "I do not wish the chains of the throne around my grandchild," he said.

"It is a _girl_ ," she repeated. "Besides, the statistics of men to women on Centauri Prime should reassure you," she laughed.

Londo seemed relieved at this news, and he grinned. "Well, this birth is some time off, yes?"

"Almost two years, Papa. We've only _just_ found out."

"Well, congratulations to you and Vir," he waved to Palco. "Get Senna a cocktail to celebrate," he instructed.

G'Kar raised his hairless brows, "Is that wise for an expecting mother?"

"Oh please," Mollari said, "Centauri drink in the womb - I can tell you, Centauri are not affected by such things."

Nevertheless, Senna declined the offer and that evening, she left the palace, her hearts full once again.

* * *

John Sheridan shoved the reports into the drawer of his desk. The results of the investigation had been inconclusive - or, that was to say - inconclusive in that it left him, General Duval, and David Sheridan as the only people that had confirmed access to the information on the three systems that had been targeted. General Duval was a fine soldier, and Sheridan couldn't imagine it had been him. David had, however, been acting strangely since his birthday.

Sheridan had finally approached his wife with the information, detailing his concerns over David.

"John," Delenn said, her features hardened with worry, "did the report say that anyone else _could_ have had access to the information?"

Sheridan frowned, "we were the only three with _confirmed_ access – but they didn't rule out the possibility that someone else got their hands on it – someone outside authorized channels."

Delenn nodded, "Then we do not have enough information to make accusations about anyone. But I agree with you - David _has_ been acting strangely since his birthday. That isn't necessarily related at all to the leaks of information. But David _is_ coming of age, and there aren't many half-Minbari, half-humans for him to talk to as he goes through the physical and emotional changes required to become an adult." She shook her head, "Even we do not understand what he is going through - and it is not an easy position for a teenager under the most ideal conditions. Perhaps we should look into a Minbari school – the religious caste has many sanctuaries that could provide him with emotional support and training as he goes through his transition into adulthood."

Sheridan sighed and shook his head. "Maybe that would be good for him, but since we don't know exactly what has been going on with him and he has been under a lot of stress, I'd rather we kept him close instead of sending him away."

"We'll talk to him," Delenn agreed. "And take it from there."

From the room next door, David lifted his ear from the wall, glancing at the keeper on his shoulder as he did so.

* * *

G'Kar found the solitude of the palace a thankful reprieve from his followers, and he was able start writing again in the quietness of his quarters within the palace. When Londo asked him where he would like his quarters, G'Kar chose the Empress's renovated dungeon quarters, for he knew that there were no cameras or bugs in the suite, and he could freely meet with Vir to talk about the Resistance efforts.

But as the next several weeks passed, G'Kar noticed Londo's memory problems began to intensify, and he relied on the Narn at his side more and more. G'Kar observed that it was taking the Emperor longer and longer to recognize Senna when she periodically visited. And although they never discussed Mollari's worsening memory lapses, clearly the Emperor knew his mind was affecting him because Senna's visits seemed to leave him in a state of despondency for days. But as Londo's memory lapses became more significant, there was something G'Kar couldn't quite put his finger on, and he sometimes wondered if Londo didn't know more than he was letting on.

G'Kar spent considerable time thinking about the aging Emperor's position, and G'Kar was not convinced there would be any easy way out of the situation, but he also knew that Mollari was a social creature, and his isolation – including his memory lapses – were pushing him closer and closer to the abyss. With the knowledge of the Resistance at his back, G'Kar decided it was time to start pushing back at the Drakh, causing them to experience the fear they were so keen on inflicting on others and perhaps inspire a bit of panic within their ranks.

"Mollari," he caught the Emperor's attention one evening when they were alone.

"Hmm?" Mollari grunted as he raised an after-dinner aperitif to his lips.

"We were talking the other week about why I came here," G'Kar's tone immediately caught Londo's attention.

Mollari put down the aperitif at G'Kar's tone and the intensity in his eyes. "G'Kar," he said warningly, "perhaps you have had too much to drink."

"Hardly," G'Kar seemed to stare through him, his red eyes finally coming to rest on Londo's shoulder, about the spot the invisible keeper was burrowed. "I came here because I know about _them_ – about the Drakh."

Londo stood up, overturning his chair. "What are you doing, you fool?!" He crossed the room in two strides, hauling G'Kar up by his lapels. "You don't know what you have done," he cried.

G'Kar continued to gaze at Mollari shoulder but his eyes changed to horror as the keeper finally appeared on Londo's shoulder in front of him.

"So," Shiv'kala appeared soundlessly behind the two men, "You _know_ about us? How did you come by this information?" he hissed.

At the sound of Shiv'kala's voice, Mollari released G'Kar's lapels, and G'Kar locked eyes with the Drakh, having fully expected the Drakh to appear once he addressed them. "On my own."

Shiv'kala's featured cracked into a hollow smile. "Perfect."

"Wait," Londo launched himself between the two, begging Shiv'kala, "you cannot kill G'Kar – he is _still_ the only reason the Narn fleet hasn't fired on our home world. If you kill him, the consequences will be disastrous – for my people and for yours. You _know_ it is true."

Shiv'kala curled his lip. "Angers flare," he said with a hiss. "But eventually they die down. For now, he will live – until his usefulness is done." Shiv'kala sank back into the darkness, disappearing.

"I could have gotten you out of here, if you had given me more time," Londo told G'Kar, his voice ragged. "But now they will _never_ let you leave this place alive."

"There are worse things than dying surrounded by your enemies," G'Kar told him, "but there is nothing worse than dying in solitary confinement."

* * *

G'Kar's attempt to rescue his friend from the desolation and loneliness of his existence within the palace and his attempt to knock the Drakh off balance by his admission would have far-reaching consequences. The Drakh did not know whether G'Kar was the only one who knew of their existence on Centauri Prime, but they suspected G'Kar's claim was a lie to appease them, and that fact, along with Sheridan's suspicions over his son placed their carefully laid plans in jeopardy. And so, it was time to harvest the revenge they had been cultivating for a decade and a half...


	39. Redemption in the Battle of Good & Evil

David Sheridan stared at the small crystal in his hand. It had been hand delivered to him by a messenger, and the messenger had told him exactly what he was meant to do with it. David had no idea what was on the crystal, but he knew it couldn't possibly be good.

Lately, the keeper that had burrowed into his shoulder had become more demanding, lacing David's actions with streaks of pain to indicate what he should do – and what he must not do.

Now, reluctantly, David pocketed the crystal, walked into Alliance headquarters on Minbar, and as soon as he was alone, he withdrew the crystal from his pocket. David stared at the crystal a moment too long and the result left him wincing from the keeper's demands, so against his better judgment, he finally pushed the crystal into the command console, leaving it there for three minutes, as he had been instructed to do, before he withdrew it again and crushed it under his heel, tears burning in his eyes.

From the moment the crystal touched the computer system, a sophisticated virus instantly began its work, crawling into every computer that came into contact with Alliance headquarters. It infected each docking White Star, and each infected White Star downloaded the virus into every port of call and ship it communicated with. Before long, the silent virus had crept into every significant ship operation system and planetary control system within the Alliance's trade sphere, and it lay dormant, waiting for the moment its coding instructed it to strike . . . .

* * *

Shiv'kala turned suddenly, facing the two Centauri he had called to the Emperor's quarters. "It is time," Shiv'kala hissed, "to make ourselves known."

Durla flung his coat tails to the side as he sat down, facing the Drakh. "What do you mean?"

"The time is at hand for the war machine we have spent decades creating to march upon our enemies. The fruit of the seeds we planted over a decade and a half ago are bearing fruit."

At this, Mollari's brow furrowed.

"And so," Shiv'kala's features broken into a smile, "it is time for the Emperor to announce our coalition."

Durla templed his fingers, a look of displeasure crossing his features. "Although the Emperor and I are not always in agreement over matters of politics, I agree with His Majesty's repeated sentiments that if the Alliance hears of our association with the Drakh, they will not waste time in attacking us."

"It will be a closed transmission – a message only to the faithful," Shiv'kala let the final word linger.

Durla put a finger to his chin in thought. "Yes, of course. There have been rumors of our association with your people for some time, but our leading military officers and ministers will be pleased to hear confirmation of this strategic alliance. But if I may ask," Durla bowed to the Drakh, "why now?"

Shiv'kala glanced at the Prime Minister and the Emperor. "We have developed a virus." From the folds of his robe, Shiv'kala withdrew a small crystal and passed it to Durla. "By the time it is activated, it will infect every significant computer system within the Interstellar Alliance, and it will bring down every weapon and operation system simultaneously. When it does, our united forces will be there to destroy our enemies while they are defenseless. The war will be over in a matter of minutes."

"You underestimate the humans and the Minbari," Londo ground his teeth, "if you think they will merely roll over when you try to destroy their fleets."

"We will not _try_. We have taken our time and perfected our strategy." Shiv'kala's skin crackled with tension, "We will ensure that the most is made of the opportunity that we have created."

"How much time," Durla asked after examining the crystal, "will our ships have to destroy their targets?"

"A matter of minutes once the zero hour arrives, but it is all they will need," Shiv'kala replied evenly. "When the virus is detected, the enemy forces will be forced to immediately reboot their systems to isolate the virus. A computer virus cannot buy an extended period of time, but if we move swiftly and collectively in a surprise attack, it is all that will be needed."

Londo stared, "So that is why you need us and every ship we have. Even your own ships will, at last, come out of hiding. You mean to destroy every ship of the Alliance if not more, yes? How far does this virus reach?" Londo asked. "Starbases? Planetary defense systems?"

Shiv'kala declined to answer.

Londo fumed, "You can't be serious - what if this plan fails? We will be fighting every race in the Alliance. We'll be decimated. This is worse than Refa's plan – and _he_ had us fighting on only _twelve_ fronts!"

"Then we must not fail," Shiv'kala said mildly.

* * *

A few days later, Vir watched the Emperor prepare to make a statement to be broadcast only to the military elite, the cabinet, the Centaurum, and certain other trusted nobles that would not leak the information outside of their circles.

Over the past few months, Vir had noticed that Londo had left more and more of the daily business of the Centauri Republic to the Prime Minister, and today, Vir could tell that in preparing for the address, Londo was relying on notes provided to him by Durla, who hovered nearby.

The camera operator waited patiently for the Emperor to begin, and Londo began to speak, addressing himself to his unseen audience.

In an uncharacteristic monotone, Londo began, "Today, I am announcing that the Centauri Republic has formed a strategic alliance with the empire of the Drakh Entire."

"No, no, no," Durla strode into the room, waving to the camera operator to stop. Durla glared at the Emperor but paused, seeming to think better of berating the Emperor in front of an audience of courtiers, and he waved everyone in the room to leave, but Vir did not move.

"Get out," Durla snarled at Vir, but Vir again did not move.

Sighing, Londo said, "Whatever you have to say to me, Vir may hear as well."

Durla twisted the paper in his hands. "Majesty," he said through clenched teeth, "you are delivering the address as if you are a prisoner, devoid of emotion. Everyone in this country knows your mannerisms, and they will think that your tone indicates that you do not support this coalition. It is imperative our generals understand how critical the Drakh are to us at this juncture."

"Perhaps I do _not_ support it," Londo replied evenly before wincing sharply, and Vir glanced at Londo's shoulder where the invisible keeper sat.

Stepping between the Prime Minister and the Emperor, Vir said with determination, "The Emperor needs to rest. Perhaps _you_ should give the address."

"What a splendid idea," Durla muttered under his breath, taking Londo's place after Vir helped the Emperor to his feet.

* * *

"Mollari was correct when he stated that if the humans and Minbari survive the initial slaughter, we will have a difficult war on our hands. But we have a solution," Shiv'kala addressed the mental chorus of the Drakh Entire.

"Go on," they replied in unison.

"Recently, we have seen the Narn bow before the fate of one man – G'Kar – because he is being held here on Centauri Prime, and they will not attack for fear of killing their religious icon. We should use this idea against the humans and Minbari."

"But elder, there are no religious icons of the same magnitude within the human or Minbari cultures," the chorus of Drakh voices replied.

"No matter," Shiv'kala replied, "we may use their political and military leaders against them – losing President Sheridan and Entil'Zha Delenn at the same moment will throw their forces into chaos.

"Proceed," replied the Drakh Entire.

* * *

"To make their destinations by the zero hour, our ships must embark immediately," Durla informed the assembled Centauri Cabinet. "Therefore, as Prime Minister, I have already given the order for them to depart on their mission. Pursuant to our usual custom, they will check in for my final 'go' order at rotating intervals, and only I, as the Prime Minister, have the final command codes that I will transmit to them as they wait in hyperspace for the zero hour. Now gentlemen," Durla rose with a smile, "soon, our empire will stretch as far as our ships can fly, surpassing even our Empire at its greatest expanse."

"And we were stretched thin, even then," Mollari said under his breath.

The other Centauri in the cabinet room rose, clapping each other on the back as the Emperor frowned, watching the sight unfold in front of him.

As the other ministers departed, Durla turned back toward Mollari. "You are not pleased, Majesty?"

Londo snapped at Durla. "Are you _so_ blind - lusting for the glory this war will bring you - that you cannot see what our _allies_ ," he spit the word out, "are doing? You think this charade is going to go peacefully, yes? But I have seen the humans when they are backed into a corner, and it did not go well for the Minbari, even with their superior firepower. And the same with the Minbari warrior caste – they will fight tooth and nail until the last Minbari falls before allowing themselves to be conquered. That is not to mention the Narn who would gladly cut us from stem to stern if given the opportunity."

Durla sighed, as if talking to a child, "Majesty, perhaps you have forgotten—"

Londo narrowed his eyes, angry at his weakness being used against him. "—I have forgotten _nothing_ of significance, Durla, least of all—"

"—military targets are justified targets in wartime," Durla cut him off calmly. "Every soldier is taught that – Surely you remember _that_."

Londo's face reddened. "What about the planetary defense grids that they plan on targeting, then?" Londo's voice rose in anger. "Why do you think they control _our_ defense grid? Is it because they wish to protect us? No. They are planning to destroy the defense grids so that they can destroy entire planets of defenseless civilians."

"They would not wipe out civilians," Durla scoffed at the suggestion. "It would make no sense – who would we enslave to rebuild our colonies?"

Londo leaned forward. "What you have always failed to appreciate, Durla, is that the Drakh do not care about _us_ , our colonies, our people, or our Republic. We are a means to an end for them. The _reason_ ," he emphasized, "that they are not worried about cleaning up the mess they will make when zero hour arrives is because they do not plan on leaving any survivors."

Durla studied the Emperor with a mixture of disbelief and chagin on his face as he shook his head. "I don't believe you," he told Londo. "Your madness," he gestured toward the Emperor, "had taken hold of your senses."

Londo leapt to his feet, grabbing Durla by the collar. "Yes, one of us _is_ mad, and one of us, after _some time_ , came to his senses, and I have had many years to think about that."

"Majesty," Durla smiled coldly, "would you risk all of our people's lives," he asked in a low tone, "on your faulty memories? The same man who killed the president of the Centaurum in cold blood and…" his voice fell to a whisper, "… _ordered his own wife to be slaughtered by imperial guards_? You thought I would not find out? I have ears everywhere, Majesty. Yet, you would lecture _me_ on morality?"

Londo relaxed his grip at Durla's words, and Durla shook his lapels free from the Emperor's grasp.

Londo's shoulders slumped. "I can only pray," Londo whispered, "that you will read the orders, and you will see that you are wrong about their intentions before you give the command that will seal innocent people's fates."

Durla brushed off his coat with annoyance and turned on his heel, leaving the Emperor alone in the cabinet room.

* * *

John Sheridan and Delenn waited patiently for their personal flyer to take them to their anniversary retreat. It was only meant to be for a few days – neither could spare more than another day away from work, but they had committed to take a little time for themselves. Every day, the Sheridans knew, was imperative. They only had twenty years together after Zha'ha'dum, and almost seventeen of those had already ticked away.

"Enjoy yourselves," David told them warmly as he saw them off on their flight.

"No parties while we're gone, ok?" Sheridan grinned at his son. "The last thing we need is something like that splashed across the news."

David templed his fingers and bowed in the Minbari tradition. "You don't have to worry about that," he reassured his parents.

"I know I don't," Sheridan grinned at the man standing near David. "Your godfather will make sure of that." Sheridan turned to Michael Garibaldi, "Thanks."

Garibaldi shrugged, "No problem - let's me get away from work at least once a year for a good cause, right? Besides, who would make my favorite godson his bagna cauda?" Garibaldi chuckled.

Sheridan and Delenn waved their goodbyes as they boarded their private flight, and within a few hours, they were on the other side of Minbar, landing at a remote site near the ancient village of Alpizanor.

As their security detail retrieved their luggage and offloaded it, Sheridan put an arm around Delenn. "Something always seems to go wrong on our anniversary – how about this time, we play it safe and order _from_ the menu—"

"—and no hiking off trail," Delenn added.

"—no taking business calls, either," Sheridan laughed.

"John," Delenn's face became concerned. "Our security detail should have been back by now. I wonder what's keeping them?"

Sheridan's face grew taunt. "You're right." He moved toward the door, carefully peering beyond the vessel to the nearby trees. Waving Delenn to his side, they slowly descended the plank from the vessel, but as soon as they touched the ground, they heard a muffled sound behind them, and they whirled to find themselves facing masked men holding PPGs.

"Who are you?" Delenn gasped as the men roughly grabbed her arms, pulling her from Sheridan's side.

"You two have made a few enemies over the years," one of the men responded, "We ain't anybody special – we just found a paying client, that's all."

"Paid mercenaries," Sheridan tried to shrug himself loose, "hooded thugs." He craned his neck around to see his security detail crumpled on the ground. "What did you do to my men?" he growled.

"They'll be fine," one of the thugs responded, motioning to the others. "You, on the other hand…we can do this the easy way or the hard way…."

The thugs jabbed their PPGs into the captives' sides and dragged Delenn and Sheridan apart, clearly intending on taking each captive to a different location, but both captives immediately resisted.

"The hard way it is," one of the hooded men shrugged, and he raised the butt of his PPG, aiming it for Sheridan's forehead in a well-placed blow. His comrade followed suit, knocking Delenn out.

After Sheridan and Delenn had succumbed to the darkness of unconsciousness, the hooded men moved them to two separate vessels.

As the vessels lifted off and departed, one of the thugs switched open a coded frequency. "We found the cargo near Alpizanor, just as you said. We're bringing the cargo back on separate fliers, just in case, as you instructed. Jumping now. Out."

* * *

Prime Minister Durla walked slowly to the Ministry of Defense, and there, he personally sorted through the operation directives prepared by the Drakh for the Centauri ships. The first example he found was the Drazi colony of Zagros VII. Durla found the coded instructions to Centauri ships sent to that sector were not instructed to fire at planetary military targets, but rather, at targets that would maximize damage across the planet surface.

Quickly, he found another planet and another. Dozens later, he finally admitted it to himself. _He had been wrong all along_.

The Drakh, to whom he had thrown his unwavering support even to the point of targeting Centauri telepaths, intended to wipe out the other civilizations, not conquer them. And he had helped them every step of the way.

Durla stared at the ceiling, his throat in his stomach. He had climbed his way from nothing to sitting in the chair next to the Emperor, a position that he would hold one day, he had no doubt. He was already positioned to take over for the aging emperor, and his command of Centauri troops over the surprise attack would make him a war hero and heir apparent to the throne. But as he thought of Mollari, Durla could think of nothing worse than to take his place knowing that what he had done had only empowered the Drakh.

" _They used me,"_ he thought, sickened.

Durla slumped backwards in his chair, remembering the Emperor's pleading and his conversation with the Empress some months before. " _Are you a moral man?"_ she had asked him.

" _I work for the Republic's glory_ ," he had answered.

" _Is that the pinnacle of your moral thought? The Republic's glory? How very short-sighted of you_." She had replied.

Durla withdrew the crystal Shiv'kala had given him from his pocket and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. The Drakh had broken the Centauri defense grid – and he had willingly shared the codes with them when he thought that they were allies. Now, the only way to wrest control back from them would be to reset the entire planetary defense system. He glanced at the crystal once more.

While the Drakh's attention was elsewhere, the Centauri defense grid could be reset, and the Drakh's control of it would be lost. Making up his mind, Durla made his way to the planetary defense command and control room.

At the entrance, the soldiers saw the Prime Minister's face, and the soldiers inside welcomed him in. Once inside, Durla inserted the crystal, allowing the Drakh's virus to silently contaminate the Centauri defense grid.

"Keep up the good work," Durla said solemnly to the soldiers as he left the command and control room.

Once outside, he returned to his office at the palace, wrote a short letter, sealed it, and walked out onto the balcony. There was only one way he could regain his honor and prevent the order that the ships would need to complete their mission. Taking one long, last look at the countryside visible from the overlook of his office, he deliberately stepped over the ledge and fell several stories to his death on the tiled walkway below.

* * *

The Drakh cried out in anger at the news of the Prime Minister's death. He, alone, had the power to order the ships to strike.

"Not all is lost," Shiv'kala reassured the Drakh Entire.

"All of our plans ruined," the Drakh Entire cried. "All that we have worked for."

"Have faith," Shiv'kala soothed them. "Our plans will yet come to fruition."

Collectively, the Drakh Entire nodded. Their plans, so carefully laid, would yet be fulfilled.


	40. The Night Tide

"You spoke to the Prime Minister before he committed suicide," Shiv'kala templed his fingers in displeasure as he regarded the Emperor. "You encouraged him to disobey our wishes."

Londo shook his head in disagreement, "The Prime Minister has rarely listened to me, as I am sure you are aware."

"We have been planning this offensive for 17 years," Shiv'kala's voice fell into a low, warning tone.

Londo narrowed his eyes astutely. "The keeper you made me place on David Sheridan – you are using it somehow?"

"Yesssss," the Drakh inclined his head slowly. "The seed has borne fruit at last."

Londo put a confused hand to his forehead, "The boy's keeper is giving you intelligence on the Alliance?"

Shiv'kala appeared to contemplate whether he should tell the Emperor any more, but at last he shrugged nonchalantly, "The boy has given away his parents' exact locations and schedules."

"Delenn?" Mollari gasped. "President Sheridan? What have you done to them?"

"They are being brought here. You will have them interrogated for any useful knowledge they may provide."

"And when their interrogations are done?" Londo asked, concern in his face.

"You will have them executed."

The color drained from Londo's face.

* * *

Deep in his dungeon quarters, G'Kar grimly leaned back in his chair, one eye socket empty.

Years before, Cartagia has plucked out his eye, thinking it would deprive him of a vital organ, but being able to discreetly deposit his artificial eye implant in concealed locations had come in handy more than once over the years.

Hearing the conversation continue, he redirected his focus back to the images being broadcast from his ocular implant.

* * *

"If you bring the President and Delenn here, you will infuriate the Alliance, and they will come after us with all of their firepower," Londo protested.

"No," Shiv'kala disagreed. "Their absence during the surprise attack will ensure any remaining Alliance forces are thrown into disarray."

Londo rose to his feet, throwing a finger in the Drakh's chest. "Your surprise attack must be abandoned. The Prime Minister is dead, and he is the only one authorized to give the order to our ships."

"There you are wrong," Shiv'kala's features spread into an unreadable expression. " _You_ will give the order."

"Me?" Londo shook his head. "The command codes were known to the Prime Minister, alone."

Shiv'kala's craggy features broke into the Drakh equivalent of a smile, " _Every_ Centauri knows the sound of their emperor's voice. If you tell them to strike, they will not waver."

Londo stared at the Drakh. "You are asking me to tell Centauri ships to kill billions of innocent people . . . ."

"They struck against our masters, the Shadows – they were not innocent in that. Besides, if you do not give the order, the virus will still strike at the appointed hour, dropping Alliance defenses for a short time. The Alliance will already have detected Centauri ship movements, and they will know it was the Centauri that planned to strike, even if you do not complete the task. In addition, the mercenaries we employed with Centauri ducats to deliver Sheridan and Delenn will confirm the Centauri planned the invasion. What do you think the Interstellar Alliance will do when they find out that the Centauri Republic captured their military and political leaders and planned a massive offensive against the entire Alliance? You will have committed grave acts of war against them, and there will be swift reprisals against Centauri Prime."

Londo clasped his hands together, "Please . . . ."

Shiv'kala continued, "If you do not attack first, the Alliance will destroy Centauri Prime and all of the Centauri Republic's holdings. And it will be your people and my people that will die, instead of theirs. Your fate is now linked to ours. We live together or we die together." Shiv'kala's eyes hardened, "So you _will_ instruct the ships to attack."

* * *

G'Kar paced in his quarters as he watched the interaction between Mollari and Shiv'kala. The idea of the Centauri and the Drakh bombing Narn again tore at his breast, and his gloved hands curled into fists at the thought that his people would again be slaughtered, casualties of the stealth attack, but Mollari's next words to the Drakh's demand froze him in place.

* * *

Mollari stared at Shiv'kala for a long time before he quietly responded, "I will not do it."

Shiv'kala whirled on Mollari, anger filling the Drakh's frame, and Mollari immediately cried out as he fell to his knees, clawing blindly at the air.

"We have discussed your refusals in the past – have you forgotten?" Shiv'kala growled, and Mollari shook under the pain of the unseen hand of the Drakh's keeper, falling from his knees to the floor, his body taunt with pain. The Drakh's silent enforcement seemed to end as quickly as it began, for Mollari crumpled abruptly, and the episode left him hacking as blood drained from his nose and mouth, staining his white clothes.

Mollari was breathing hard, and he seemed unable to speak, but at last, tears involuntarily forming in his eyes from the pain cause by the keeper, he grasped the leg of a chair, pulling himself up to lean against it as he stared incoherently at the room. "I suppose that I was never a very good student," he sputtered between coughing fits as he dragged his sleeve across his bloody mouth.

"You will not forget this," Shiv'kala unleashed the fury of the keeper, causing Mollari to lurch forward, grasping at nothingness as he fell to the ground again, a soundless whimper cut off by the wracking that convulsed his body until he passed out from the pain.

Shiv'kala stood over the body of the Emperor, staring disapprovingly down at his charge, "Your memory is not so bad as to forget that we have many tools at our disposal. You would do well to remember that before we destroy everything you hold dear."

* * *

At the sight of the Drakh's first attack unleashed against Londo, G'Kar sprang up from his chair as he burst from his quarters, his strides swallowing the hallway as he raced toward the Emperor's position. He had never seen the Drakh impose physical torture on Mollari before, and although he knew the Drakh were capable of inflicting pain, he had never imagined the violence and swiftness with which they could carry out their silent attacks.

By the time the Drakh had inflicted the second onslaught, G'Kar was in an elevator, slamming a gloved hand against the wall. "Schlock!" he swore, urging the elevator to its destination. When the doors began to open, G'Kar slid through thems sideways, unable to wait for them to open, and the hallway rang with his footfalls. Finally, breathless, G'Kar saw Londo's personal guards stationed outside his residence, and G'Kar barreled between them.

As the Emperor's memory problems had increased, he had allowed his ministers to take over more of the daily decisions without protest, and Emanio and the palace staff had became more protective of the aging emperor as his illness progressed, gently reminding him of appointments he had forgotten. But unlike the formal staff and Centauri cabinet ministers, G'Kar enjoyed the unique position of an old and trusted friend, a peer, and an equal, but more importantly, since G'Kar's admission to the Drakh that he knew about them, the Emperor had little to hide from the Narn, so G'Kar was often by his side, and Mollari had previously admonished the guards to allow the Narn to enter at his pleasure, so they made no move to stop G'Kar as he flew by them.

Once inside, G'Kar noticed immediately that the Drakh had already disappeared, and G'Kar crossed the room to the inert figure lying on the floor. "Mollari," he frowned at the blood specks splattered across the floor, and he dragged the unconscious emperor to a nearby settee. "Mollari," he said again firmly, commanding the Centauri to open his eyes, but when he received no response, G'Kar retrieved a brivari decanter, uncorking it and waiving a snifter under Mollari's nose.

Londo's eyes rolled further backward, unseeing, but they finally pitched forward, coming to rest on the Narn. "What are you doing?" he coughed, slurring his words, sounding more incoherent than when he was drunk.

"I happened to be in the neighborhood," G'Kar said, as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"Where am I?" Londo looked dazed for a moment until he noticed the blood on his sleeves and the floor, and he wiped the clammy sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. "I must have fallen . . . or . . . ."

G'Kar poured a tall glass of brivari to help Londo regain his nerves, but he knew there was little they could say to each other about the situation with the keeper present.

Londo waved the brivari away for the moment, unable to holding it with his shaking muscles. He was still breathing hard from the physical pain the keeper had inflicted on him, but when he looked up at the Narn kneeling next to him, he squinted hard, apparently not able to focus, "Where is your eye?" Londo asked perplexedly as he pointed to the sagging eye socket.

G'Kar walked over to a nearby bookshelf and plucked the eye from its hiding place before popping it back into the mechanical socket implanted in his skull.

Londo tried to say something before another series of wracking coughs overtook him, and he waved for the glass of brivari, downing it quickly. "Well," he furrowed his brow, struggling for words, "now you have seen the truth – the illusion I have been wearing," he gestured to the Centauri seal around his neck, "for so long."

G'Kar knew that Londo was deeply embarrassed and ashamed. The Centauri cherished appearances, and they wore the mark of their ranks with dignity and honor. But here was the Centauri emperor, the very leader of their people, reduced to a bloody, helpless mess at the feet of the Drakh.

But before G'Kar could reply, a massive tremor shook the room, and G'Kar had to dodge the bookshelf crashing toward him as it fell to the floor. Around them, the windows shattered, and dust filled the room as the imperial guards flung the doors open.

* * *

"I _told_ you it was _too_ dangerous," Timov admonished her daughter as Senna withdrew vials of dexycylodox from her pockets.

"I couldn't let you suffer," Senna administered the injection. "Besides, no one in the palace saw me. The key will be keeping your injections constant again so that the illness does not regress into its more potent stages."

Timov pursed her lips in displeasure, "It isn't worth the risk."

"Nothing risked . . . " Senna told her adoptive mother, ". . . nothing gained – you taught me that."

The stiff expression on Timov's face melted away, and she managed a smile. "Thank you for looking after me." She turned to the nearest mirror, smoothing her dress. "I suppose I should try to get something done around here for a change."

"Illyia says you have been getting quite a lot done," Senna replied softly, "perhaps too much."

"How is Vir?" Timov changed the subject abruptly.

"Busy," Senna sighed. "Papa has delegated so many tasks to him that I hardly see him. And, on top of everything else, Vir has been coordinating the movement of telepaths with Phylakios' teams so that when – and if – they are called upon to infiltrate the cave system, the soldiers will won't run into the Drakh blindly."

"I'm sorry that you and Vir have had all of this laid upon your shoulders," Timov replied.

"We are both glad to help," Senna reassured her again.

"And what of Londo?" Timov asked.

Senna sighed, "I didn't see him at the palace yesterday. It distresses him so much when they tell him what he has forgotten that I – I instructed Emanio and the other palace staff not to introduce me as the Princess anymore because I can see how much it frustrates him when he does not remember – and it is heartbreaking to see him that way. In fact, I told Emanio not to announce me at all. I'm just one of the palace governesses, looking after the courtiers' children."

"Oh Senna," Timov squeezed her hand.

Senna smiled wistfully. "It is nice, actually, I can pretend I have some anonymity again. The courtiers aren't very good at playing along, but the palace staff is really looking after Papa – and G'Kar is constantly by his side."

"The ministers are probably pulling their hair out over a Narn giving the emperor counsel," Timov raised an eyebrow thoughtfully.

"Knowing Papa, he is probably enjoying that very thing," Senna laughed.

At that moment, Timov felt the ground sway, and she put out a hand to her daughter to steady herself. But before she could catch her balance, another shudder lurched the ground beneath her and the sound of an explosion could be heard in the distance.

Phylakios's men burst through the doors surrounding them, "Quickly, downstairs," the soldiers instructed, gesturing toward the exit, and the two women were hurried into a fortified cellar beneath the aged mansion.

"What's happening?" Senna asked breathlessly, but the horror of the day that she had lost her mothers so many years ago came hurtling back, and with a sickening feeling in her stomach, the closest soldier confirmed what she already knew.

"We're being attacked," the soldier replied.

* * *

A tremor loosed heavy chandeliers from the palace's ceiling, and seeing the swinging crystal, G'Kar tackled the Emperor on the settee where he was resting, throwing Londo to the ground as the glass crashed against the overturned settee.

Shaking off his surprise, Londo pointed toward one of the doors, "That way."

G'Kar threw an arm under Londo's shoulder, supporting the ailing emperor as they made their way quickly through the hallways. In a moment, G'Kar found himself in one of the palace's smaller side rooms, and the imperial guards surrounded them, their weapons drawn.

"Is the Emperor hurt?" One guard questioned G'Kar as he saw the stains of blood tainting the Emperor's sleeve.

"It's nothing," Londo replied before G'Kar could answer, dismissing the comment with a wave of his hand as another guard listened to his communication device and glanced at the Emperor. "There are explosions throughout the Capitol City, Majesty. We must get you to the bunker."

"Who is attacking us?" the Emperor narrowed his eyes.

"Unknown, Majesty. Please – there is no time," the guard gestured G'Kar and the Emperor toward the closest hallway. The imperial guards raced the Emperor and the Narn deeper and deeper through the palace's labyrinth to an underground bunker. Punching in a code, the guards ushered them through the door and barricaded themselves on the other side, preparing for an invasion.

Inside, the reverberations from the surface were muffled, but the bunker seemed oddly peaceful in contrast to the chaos they had just left, leaving G'Kar to take in their surroundings. It was as garish as any Centauri room G'Kar had ever seen, although why the Centauri felt the need to decorate a bunker in lace and satin, G'Kar would probably never understand.

G'Kar helped Londo to a sofa before he turned to sit down nearby.

Londo pointed to the back of G'Kar's leg, which was stained a dark red. "Are you all right?"

G'Kar touched the back of his leg, feeling a shard of crystal protruding from his skin, and warm, sticky blood oozed over his fingers. Pulling out the shard swiftly with a grimace, he held up a piece of the chandelier. "The dangers of Centauri furnishings."

Londo pushed himself up out of his chair, and G'Kar put up a hand to stop him, but Londo shook his head, "I can manage. Stay there." Londo retrieved a linen and ripped it in two, winding it around G'Kar's leg, but G'Kar noticed Londo's hands still shook from the shock of the Drakh's punishment.

After Londo had seen to G'Kar's leg, he returned to the wings of the room and looked perplexed for a moment before opening a large mahogany cabinet. "Ah, yes," he pulled a bottle from its interior and popped the cork. "Drink this," he handed G'Kar the bottle. "I will have the royal physician see to your leg as soon as we can get out of here."

"I would not trust the royal physician with Narn physiology," G'Kar replied.

"If he does not know it, he will have to learn," Londo frowned.

"Where are your cabinet ministers?" G'Kar asked after taking a swig of the alcohol.

"We have multiple bunkers throughout the palace. Fortunately, for the sake of our sanity, the ministers have been taken elsewhere."

"Fortunate indeed," G'Kar sighed, placing the bottle by his side.

The two men sat in the darkened room listening to the muffled booms outside.

"If it is the Narn," G'Kar offered, "I should speak to them."

"I don't know why the Narn would attack today," Londo frowned. He pounded on the door until a guard appeared. "What is happening on the surface?" he demanded.

"The reports indicate there has been a problem with the defense grid. It has targeted multiple areas around the Capitol City."

G'Kar watched the Emperor's face turn to ashen white. "Did you say … the defense grid?"

"Yes, Majesty," the soldier confirmed, "some sort of malfunction."

Londo and G'kar exchanged concerned glances.

"Then, eh," Londo put a shaking hand to his forehead, "no outside force is attacking us?"

"No, just a terrible accident, Majesty."

"And there are casualties?"

"Undoubtedly a significant number, Majesty."

"I must make an address to the people," Londo said, dazed.

"Majesty, until the glitch has been corrected, we've been instructed to shelter in place. When it is safe to venture out, we will inform you immediately." The guard swiftly saluted and returned to the barricade on the other side of the bunker's door.

G'Kar watched Mollari stumble backwards, shocked. Numbly, the Emperor returned to the wet bar and pulled several more bottles from the shelves. Pouring himself a drink, he sat silently facing G'Kar again, hearing only the periodic muffled explosions from the surface.

G'Kar noticed that the Emperor seemed determined to drink his weight in booze after finding out that the defense grid was causing the chaos on the surface, and remembering Timov's warning that the Drakh controlled the defense grid, G'Kar didn't blame him, considering the suspicious timing of the attack. G'Kar took a swig from his own bottle.

Mollari was silent for over an hour, and G'Kar did not press him.

The sound of the explosions from the surface reminded G'Kar of his days as a child in Narn bunkers, waiting for the shelling by Centauri troops to stop. The waiting was terrible, but the bodies they had found in the aftermath were worse.

Finally, two bottles later, Mollari spoke again. "Well," Londo said, slurring his words, "we are _alone_ at last. Except for misfortune. It hangs desperately on my coattails," he said resignedly.

"We have _been_ alone for some time," G'Kar corrected him gently.

"No," Londo frowned. "My keeper has learned to keep pace with me, but when I am determined, I can still outdrink him for short periods of time."

G'Kar noticed the translucent keeper had appeared again on the Emperor's shoulder, but this time the eye had sagged closed as if it was asleep.

"You mean—" G'Kar pointed at the keeper, "we are _actually_ alone?"

Londo nodded slowly. "But it will not last long."

G'Kar threw his hands up, "This might have been useful information previously . . . ."

Londo held up a hand, "As you can see," his words slurred together again, "it is not a method I can use at length, and I must be very careful. If I become agitated or excited, my own adrenaline will wake him again. So," Londo closed his eyes, calming his heartbeat, "this may be the only time we have to speak."

G'Kar immediately turned to the overriding issue facing them. "You _must not_ give in to the Drakh's demands," G'Kar said.

'I know that," Londo replied with a frown. Tears formed in Londo's eyes as he gestured toward the surface above them, the muffled explosions still evident, "And yet, I was named as emperor to protect my people, and now I must watch my own people die to ensure that others live. What sort of an emperor am I that I value their lives over the lives of my people?" It was evident the pain of sacrificing his own people's lives was tearing Londo to pieces.

"We will figure a way out of this," G'Kar told him.

Londo gazed at the ground sadly, "You do not know the Drakh as I do – and all that they have done over the past decade and a half. They will stop at nothing to get what they want. And if they find the fusion bombs have been deactivated," he shook his head, "it will be even worse. But we have a saying on Centauri Prime - sometimes to defeat a monster, you must _be_ the bigger monster. I guess in this case," he clenched his jaw as he looked toward the surface again, "I must be the bigger monster."

G'Kar considered Londo's words. "Perhaps it is fortunate that President Sheridan and Entil'Zha Delenn are being brought here. They can persuade the Alliance to prevent a counter attack. I heard the Drakh say they had been captured – if you free them . . . ."

"-Don't you think I want nothing more than to free them? I-I don't how it can be done," Londo replied. "And even if it they are able to reach safety, they will never forgive me for what I have done to their son."

G'Kar thought for a moment, "I heard the Drakh mention a keeper on David Sheridan?"

Londo nodded with a frown. "There is nothing anyone can do for him."

"But your keeper is linked to your neural pathways as evidenced by the effect of the alcohol," G'Kar mused. "Maybe if they can surprise David, he could be sedated, and perhaps a way could be figured out to remove it."

"Perhaps," Londo sounded doubtful.

"We must work on a way to free them," G'Kar replied.

"G'Kar," Londo stopped him, "the Drakh will stop at nothing to get what they want. They will target anything they can to get what they want. At least Senna is safe, for now – unless it is from your advances. She is married woman now, eh?"

G'Kar stared at the Emperor with disbelief, "But I thought you—"

"—have had problems with my memory? Yes, I have. I have been forgetting things – names and some faces and appointments and what I had for breakfast. I admit the holes in my mind are growing, but each day, I devote a great deal of mental energy to preserving the most important things in my mind, repeating things I must remember over and over again. I realized I could use my own weakness against the Drakh. They have always been careful not to say too much in front of me regarding their plans, but once my memory started to have problems, they have talked more openly in front of me, and it was clear their plans were coming to fruition after all of these years. But I was aware that they would continue to need favors done to complete their plans - and my family was at risk. I knew the day would come when they would threaten Senna's life and her unborn child's life over something trivial, just as they had threatened Timov's life when she was here at the palace. The last card I have to play against them to protect Senna was to banish her from my life, even if she was still physically in it. Now, the Drakh have no reason to hurt her if I cannot remember who she is. But the pain of banishing her from my life when I can still see her—" Londo looked at the ceiling, "—it has not been easy for me."

G'Kar rocked backwards at this revelation, "I imagine not."

Londo stared at the floor, "I am afraid, G'Kar, very afraid, that they will threaten Vir's life, and I will see to that as soon as I am able. But I do not know how long I can hold out against the Drakh threats," he flinched as the sound of another explosion rocked the bunker. He turned his eyes back to G'Kar, a desperation entering his voice, "You cannot let them tear the order from me before the zero hour. Do you understand? I cannot allow the innocent deaths that will result from this surprise attack planned by the Drakh."

G'Kar knew what Londo was asking of him, if worse came to worse, and his good eye glittered in the darkened bunker as he nodded, "I _understand_."

Londo nodded with a frown. "It is important that Sheridan knows that the Drakh do not keep their ships here on Centauri Prime. When the Drakh touched my mind to reattach the keeper after my heart attack – I saw things in their collective mind - particularly, their ships' base. It must be found and destroyed or the Drakh will find another plan to cause death and chaos. I will play my role as the bigger monster, but I need you to find a way to communicate what must be done to Sheridan."

"Where is the Drakh base?" G'Kar asked, but before he could get an answer, the bunker door swung open.

"Majesty," the guard addressed the Emperor, "the defense grid has stopped targeting the Capitol, and the Ministry of Defense believes the glitch has been repaired. They also have two Ministry personnel in custody - they are suspected of having altered the targeting of the defense system. In any event, it is safe now."

G'Kar glanced at Londo, but the keeper's body had disappeared from sight, and G'Kar knew their only chance to talk freely had ended.

Emerging from the bunker, G'Kar watched Mollari closely as he approached one of the palace balconies overlooking the city. As he neared the glass doors, G'Kar saw him stop, unable to continue.

" _Great Maker_ ," Londo whispered, putting a hand to his chest.

G'Kar looked past the Emperor's shoulder, and he saw smoke billowing from all over the city. The Centauri skyline rebuilt after the attacks over a decade and a half before was now, again, a desolate sight of death and fire.

Londo pressed a gloved hand against his eyes, visibly trying to hold back his emotions before he turned to Emanio, who had arrived by his side. "I will make a nationwide broadcast to the victims of this tragedy and to the people to reassure them that the crisis is over," he nodded in resolve as he turned back to the sight before him. "But first," his voice took on a strained tenor, "Cover all of the windows in the palace. Every one. It would not do to have the Centauri Emperor fall apart every time he looks out a window."

G'Kar watched Londo leave for his office to prepare for the address, and G'Kar turned back to see the Capitol City in a halo of fire, a city laid to waste to convince one man to speak a few simple words. _No man_ , G'Kar thought _could face such withering coercion for long_.


	41. Indestructible

The Captain of the Emperor's guards gestured for the door to Sheridan's cell to be shut behind the prisoner, and as it clanged closed, another guard arrived in the dungeon's hallway, snapping his heels together before the Captain.

"The transport with the Minbari has arrived, Captain."

The Captain took off his helmet and wiped his damp brow. "Take her to the dungeon on the other side of the garden. The Emperor ordered that both the prisoners be interrogated for anything they might reveal about the Alliance's military intelligence and operations concerning us and our allies, and they should be separated until their questioning is finished."

The other soldier hesitated. "Delenn of Minbar has been . . . resisting the attempts to question her on the transport."

The Captain held the soldier's stare for a moment, "Dispatch the pain technicians to question the prisoners immediately. The Emperor instructed that we may use whatever means is necessary to extract the information as long as they are kept alive until he deems their usefulness spent."

The guard snapped his heels in acquiescence.

* * *

"There," The royal physician finished patching up the deep gauge in G'Kar's leg, "good as new."

"Medical attention was unnecessary," G'Kar said, perturbed at the hours he had spent in the physician's office, watching the doctor glance at his computer console as he read up on Narn physiology.

The doctor squinted at his screen, a faintly puzzled look on his face. "Did you know," he sat back, a mixed expression on his face, "that Narn actually have the ability to _hibernate_?"

G'Kar rolled his eyes to the ceiling, annoyed by the doctor's apparent new curiosity in his species. "Yes," he huffed, "I'm _aware_. Some marsupials have such an ability. Now, if we are done here . . . ."

"Oh," the doctor stood up, "I lost track of the time reading all of these files. You are free to go, and I'll come down and check on you soon," the physician smiled.

"Really," G'Kar shook his head with irritation, "you don't have to."

"Actually," the physician shrugged, "I do – Emperor's orders. Besides," he grinned, "I'm finally learning something about the Narn."

"I'm surprised you haven't read up on the medical experiments your people performed on us," G'Kar said dryly.

"What an excellent idea," the physician nodded, oblivious to G'Kar's hardened stare at his response.

* * *

Vir approached the darkened throne quietly. Palco had already told him the Emperor's mood had soured, and as Vir glanced at the window, he knew why. The news had been full of the defense grid's malfunction, but Vir knew that secretly the Drakh controlled it, and he suspected there was something far more ominous behind the attacks that had devastated the Capitol City.

Vir paled as he watched Londo crush the trade report he handed to the Emperor.

"I send you as my envoy, and _this – this –_ is what you bring me?" Londo fumed.

"I'm sorry Londo – I've been trying for weeks to make progress, but with the tightening of the trade embargo, no one will even talk to us, and with everything else that has happened in the past few days, I didn't think it was a top priority, and . . . ."

Londo threw the crumpled ball to the ground, and he walked to the throne room's window, staring out at the smoking remains of the Capitol City. "It is all important," he said, irritation coloring his tone, his back still turned to Vir.

Vir noticed Londo linger at the window a moment longer before he turned back.

"Over the years, Vir, I have given you many assignments, yes?"

"Yes, I've been your aide for a long time, and . . . ."

"And how many times have you failed me?"

Vir's brow furrowed in confusion, "Failed you? I – I don't think that—"

"—Yes, _failed_ me."

Vir tried to read Londo's meaning, but all he saw in Londo's eyes was a hardened darkness.

"I've always done my best, Londo," his shoulders began to slump.

"Sometimes," Londo's eyes narrowed, "your best is not good enough. You have failed these people, Vir. And I have failed them. We have all failed them. It isn't good enough anymore."

Vir didn't know if Londo was talking about the trade talks anymore but Londo's attention had clearly turned to the defense grid's destruction.

"How long have I employed you, Vir?"

Vir shook his head, "Twenty-one, twenty-two years," he offered.

"That has now come to an end."

Vir's eyes widened in shock, "You can't mean that. You're just upset about this," he waved his hand toward the city.

"I cannot mean it?" Londo's eyes narrowed, "Do you know how many people would have died on Babylon 5 if you had not left your assignment those many years ago?"

"I didn't know," Vir whispered, wringing his hands.

"None. None would have died," Londo said harshly. "I have overlooked your grifting and your greed – my own Minister of Defense came to me years ago telling me that you were amassing a fortune in _illegal_ commodities. And I have overlooked your _significant_ shortcomings as a Centauri over the years."

"That's not fair," Vir's brow furrowed at the accusations and Londo's angry tone.

"Did someone promise you fairness? If so, I should like to meet them, and have them whipped naked in the streets."

"You just are under a lot of stress because of the bombings, and . . . ."

"I took you from a _worthless_ family, and I believed in you," Londo gestured angrily. "I have overlooked your mistakes and your weaknesses, but you have misused my generosity and my position for the last time. What could be more important than our people? It was a simple mission," Londo's voice rose as he pointed at the crumpled paper, "and you could not secure a few weeks of supplies for our people who are suffering – and for _what_? To take a vacation to the North?"

"I _wasn't_ on vacation," Vir stood up taller, his face reddening.

"Your family was right about you, and I should have listened to them from the beginning. You have disappointed me for the last time. Get out of my sight."

Vir's mouth snapped closed. He didn't know what had taken ahold of Londo, but he had never seen the Emperor in such a vicious mood. Vir's unfair treatment at the hands of his family had always been a matter of some soreness to the younger man, and until now, Mollari had never chastised Vir about it. In fact, Mollari had always protected Vir from the disappointed stares of his family. But now, Londo's malicious barbs stung Vir deeply.

"Just because you are angry about what has happened, you don't have the right to treat me this way," Vir replied, a firmness entering his voice.

"I don't have _the right?"_ Londo mocked Vir. "Yes, I think that I do, in fact, have every _right_." He gestured to the seal around his neck. "It is what this means, yes?"

"Fine," Vir looked Londo in the eyes, "if you don't want me here, I will go. I certainly wouldn't want to be somewhere that I'm not wanted." Vir departed, letting his stinging tears fall only when he reached the hallway outside Londo's office.

" _Good!"_ Londo shouted after him as the door closed, but he stood facing the door for some time, a frown carved into his face.

* * *

The Royal Physician whistled as he returned to G'Kar's quarters. He reached the door and awaited the Narn's voice in response to the door chime, but when G'Kar didn't answer, the Royal Physician waited a moment before ringing again. Again, there was no answer.

Perplexed, the physician tapped in his personal access code, overriding the local controls before he entered the dimly lit room, and his face fell as he saw fresh blood smeared across the floor.

" _Great Maker_ ," the Royal Physician whispered as he saw the long streaks of crimson staining the floor. He followed the bloody trail from one room in G'Kar's quarters to the next until his eyes fell upon a figure collapsed in the corner.

The doctor fell to his knees as he reached G'Kar's side, and as he turned the Narn gently by the shoulder, his breath caught. "What happened?" he asked the Narn huddled in his own blood.

G'Kar stared back at the physician with his one remaining eye, an unreadable look etched upon his face, "Must have slipped on the tile," he replied.

Ignoring G'Kar's retort, the physician gestured toward the gaping hole where G'Kar's implant had been, "Who _did_ this to you?"

Shrugging, G'Kar raised an arm to wipe the blood drying on the left side of his face. "I guess I saw some things I shouldn't have," he mumbled.

"Let's get you to the med lab," the physician tried to help him up.

"No," G'Kar put up a hand to stop him. "it would not turn out well for you if you assisted me."

The physician stared at him. "But the Emperor ordered that I look after you . . . ."

G'Kar shook his head, "It is far more important that you do not tell him what you have seen here. It was done to sway his resolve on a matter of great importance and," he added under his breath, "to teach me a lesson for coming to his aid."

"At least let me clean it," the physician pleaded.

"Go," G'Kar jerked his head toward the door. "I will manage. I have managed in these dungeons before – and the pain then was far worse than it is now."

The physician stood up reluctantly, and taking a last look over his shoulder, the physician departed.

* * *

Delenn fell to the ground, wracked by the bursts of agony the pain technician was inflicting. " _At least David is safe_ ," she kept reminding herself over and over. And she comforted herself with the thought that maybe, just maybe, John had escaped their attackers and would be coming to her aid.

They had not made her talk, nor would she give away any of the strategically important information they were trying to drag from her.

She closed her eyes, embracing the pain as a way to defeat its hold on her.

* * *

Alone again, G'Kar pulled himself to his feet and slowly dragged himself to the bathroom. Gritting his teeth, he cleaned away the blood staining his face and his clothes before he reached for a nearby robe. Ripping a sleeve from the black robe, he packed the gaping hole in his eye socket with the cloth before wrapping the remnants around his head.

"Schlock," he shook his head. He had thought he was protected in his room in the dungeon, but the Drakh had infiltrated his quarters, subduing him while he slept. He knew that coming to Mollari's aid and revealing that he had left his detachable eye in Londo's residence was risky, but he had gambled that the Drakh still needed him alive. He had not considered that the Drakh would dismantle him one piece at a time. He touched his eye socket, forcing himself not to flinch as the sensation inflamed his ragged nerves.

Turning at last, he glanced at the date and time with his remaining eye. He knew the time until the virus hit the Alliance ship's was now imminent. If Mollari did not confirm the mission for the Centauri ships as they checked in for their final "go" command, the Centauri ships would abandon their attack plans and return home, allowing the Alliance defenses to survive an almost certain slaughter if the Centauri Emperor faltered and gave the final command to his ships. The last thing Mollari needed was additional pressure to give the "go" command, for G'Kar knew the Emperor was already close to his breaking point, and until the zero hour passed, there was no telling if Mollari would be able to withstand the Drakh's demands.

Casting his remaining eye about his quarters, G'Kar realized the ocular implant ripped from his skull was completely missing. He shook his head, beginning to appreciate Mollari's warning about the lengths to which the Drakh would go to carry out their slaughter.

* * *

Palco brought the Emperor his afternoon brivari, but as he delivered it to the Emperor, he noticed the Emperor had paled and was staring with a frown at a box near his elbow. As he offered the Emperor his glass, Palco's eyes widened. He glanced at the open box, seeing G'Kar's bloody ocular implant laying inside it.

Catching the direction of Palco's eyes, the Emperor snapped the lid of the box shut with one hand as he took the brivari from his servant's tray with the other. "What is the hour?" he asked briskly.

Palco blinked. The Emperor's memory had been failing, but today, it had been especially bad, for the Emperor had repeatedly been asking about the time whenever he saw Palco. Dutifully, Palco reported the late afternoon hour.

"Take this away," Londo gruffly handed the box to Palco before flipping the monitors on his throne to the prisoner's cells in the dungeon.

Palco gaped at the box but took it wordlessly, carefully holding it as he bowed and departed, speechless.

* * *

The Emperor watched the monitors for a few minutes before returning to the window of the throne room. As he stood gazing out the window at the smoke still engulfing the Capitol City, Shiv'kala appeared, waiting patiently for the Emperor to notice the Drakh's presence in the empty throne room. At last, perhaps sensing the alien eyes boring into his back, the Emperor turned toward him.

"Did you receive our package?" the Drakh narrowed his eyes.

"Yes," Londo replied with disgust. "A barbaric act."

"No less than your last Emperor would have done - and you know what we will do to everyone else you care for, one-by-one? And what will happen to your people if the surprise attack is not carried out by your ships?"

"I am well aware of what you intend upon doing," Londo said, his eyes failing to meet the Drakh, his body and voice devoid of any more fight.

Seeing the Emperor's head drop, Shiv'kala knew the Emperor had been conquered. "And?" Shiv'kala pressed.

"I will send the order to our ships to attack before the deadline tonight," Londo shook his head in defeat. "Better that some of my people live than to see you kill them all – or let them be killed by the Alliance's response if the attack fails - out of your spite for me."

"A wise choice," the Drakh hissed. "The Alliance would have defeated Centauri Prime and would destroy your colonial holdings out of anger as well. This way, your people will know the taste of victory that they have been thirsting for at last, and your empire will stretch as far as your ships can fly."

Londo said nothing.

"Good," the Drakh said, satisfied at the Emperor's capitulation. "You will start with the Alliance leaders – their lifeless bodies will serve as important pieces of propaganda after the attack. After their questioning is complete, ensure that their bodies are preserved for the Ministry of Information to capture for the press releases. And before the stroke of midnight, you will record the message to your ships to begin the attack. We must ensure we have the message recorded in time to ensure it can be broadcast to the fleet as they begin their final check-in for the mission."

Londo nodded once, his gaze upon the floor.

* * *

Seeing the Princess, Emanio warmly greeted Senna as she held on to the hands of two children that she was watching for the day, but as Emanio accosted Senna with the news of the palace, the children's hands unknowingly slipped from her grasp.

"Have you seen Vir?" she asked Emanio inquisitively.

"No, Your Highness. His Excellency has not returned to this wing since his meeting with His Majesty earlier."

Senna made a face at the Master of the House, "Emanio," she scolded him, "you are not to address me by my title, remember? What if His Majesty heard? You know how much his memory lapses upset him."

Emanio bowed, "It is a difficult habit to break, Your Highness – err – Your Ladyship."

Senna grasped Emanio's gloved hands and smiled at him, "It's _fine_ , Emanio. And I am pleased to see you, but . . . ." Her smile faded suddenly as she abruptly turned in surprise, realizing at last that the children had disappeared, and she gathered up her skirts. "Emanio, the children! Have the palace searched, and if you find them, please send them to me."

Emanio bowed briskly, his face immediately serious. "Of course Your Hig—Ladyship"

Senna swiftly walked through the broad hallways of the palace, calling out for the lost children, Luc and Lyssa Deradi.

* * *

The guard approached the Emperor again, an electric whip dangling from his hand.

"What have you found out?" Londo asked him.

The guard shook his head. "Despite the efforts of the guards and the pain technicians, the Minbari refuses to say anything. Her pain threshold is very high, Majesty. The human, on the other hand, has lost consciousness from . . . our efforts."

"Bring him to me when he is awake again," Mollari waved him out again.

* * *

G'Kar gritted his teeth, trying to shield himself from the waves of pain still emanating from his eye socket. Sitting down, he took out a pen and stared at the page. Leaning back, his chair groaned, and he wiped away fresh blood from his seeping eye socket before he begin to write, slowly at first, then more furiously. After he finished, he stared at the pages he had written before he folded the letter carefully. Sealing it in an envelope, he tucked it into a pocket close to his chest.

* * *

John Sheridan woke up, confused and in pain, his face battered and bruised. The mercenaries hadn't allowed him to see where he was being taken, and when he had been transferred to Centauri Prime, he had only just glimpsed the Centauri soldier uniforms when his consciousness was replaced by his former self travelling through time from Babylon 4 so many years earlier.

In his disorientation, three soldiers dragged him from his cell, pulling him through the long and empty corridors of the palace. The soldiers dragged the shackled President to the throne room. As the guards roughly pushed the prisoner into the room, Sheridan fell to the floor.

The lead guard kicked the inert figure, causing Sheridan to wince with pain.

The guard turned to the Emperor, "I think he's awake again, Excellency. Would you like to see?"

At Londo's nod, the guards pulled Sheridan to his feet and turned him to face the throne.

Sheridan stared at the Emperor, disoriented. "Londo? What – what am I doing here?"

Londo watched the President stoically from his seat on the throne. "Welcome back from the abyss, Sheridan," he spread his hands. "Your timing, as always, is quite exceptional. Just in time," he added dramatically, "to die."

"Londo," Sheridan shook his head, still confused, "What am I doing here? What are you—"

The Emperor cut off Sheridan's protests sharply. "—What I am doing is what someone should have done a long time ago – putting _you_ out of _my_ misery. A fitting punishment for your crimes," the Emperor rose from his throne to address the President.

Sheridan stared, "What crimes?"

Londo gestured to the guard, and the guard delivered a vicious blow to Sheridan's side.

"The crime of neglect. The crime of convenience. During your little war, you drove away the Shadows – oh yes. But you did not think to clean up your mess."

"Wha-?"

"If a few of their minions – their dark servants – came to Centauri Prime – well, where is the harm in that? Yes?"

Sheridan shook his head in protest, "—I . . ."

Londo cut him off, "You want to see the harm?" Rage filled his voice, "Do you?" Londo angrily gestured toward the window, and the soldiers forced Sheridan to look outside at the burning city.

"There," Londo pointed to the smoking remains of his city, "is the legacy of your war. The price we paid when you abandoned us to the enemies you escaped from."

Sheridan glanced back from the window at Londo, still confused by his time jump from Babylon 4, "This couldn't have happened in this amount of time," he protested. "What year is this?"

Londo held up a finger, "This is the last year, and the last day, and the last hour of your life. Seventeen years since you began your great crusade. Seventeen ye—" The Emperor fell into a fit of coughing, blood staining his handkerchief. "I'm tired," he said, catching his breath before he gestured to the guards, "take him back to his cell."

As the guards began to drag Sheridan from the room, Londo pointed a finger in his direction. "Sheridan," the guards halted. "Make your peace with whatever gods you worship. You will meet them next time I send for you. I cannot recall my world from what it has become, but I can thank you, properly, for your role in it."

The soldiers ushered John Sheridan back to his cell, leaving him alone in the darkness with his troubled thoughts.

* * *

Senna looked everywhere she could think of in the palace. The only place left was the throne room. She had avoided it while she searched, hoping the children had known enough to stay out of the ornate room, but she knew its gilded doors and embellishments were likely to attract the children, so she peered inside, hoping that perhaps Londo had retired early, that she might save him from the pain she had seen in his eyes when his memory failed him but something yet nagged at the corners of his mind.

"Can't catch me," Senna heard Luc's voice in the distance, and she made her way toward the sound.

"Luc, Lyssa? Where are you?" Senna quietly made her way through the throne room when she caught sight of the children at the window. Just beyond their shoulders, the one widow that remained partially uncovered revealed that night had fallen over Centauri Prime, and the smoking fires caused by the attacks of the defense grid still lit up the night sky. "No-no-no-no. You shouldn't be here. You can't play here, Luc, Lyssa."

"What happened to the buildings?" Luc asked innocently as he gazed out of the palace window.

"They fell down," Senna replied as she closed the curtains again. "Some bad people made them fall down. That's why all the windows in the palace are covered, so you can't see. If they find out you've been looking-"

"-Then why is the window here if you're not supposed to look?" Luc interrupted her.

"This is the Emperor's window, Luc," Senna replied as she gently took his hands, kneeling down to speak with him at his eye level. "He is the only one that can look out of the palace. That is why we can't stay. We have to go before-"

"-No," Senna heard the familiar voice of her father ring out, a tiredness evident in his tone.

"It's all right," he continued. "It has been a long time since I've heard the sound of laughter in _this_ room. A very long time. Let me see them." Londo gestured for the children, and Senna ushered them into the presence of the throne where he sat. When Luc saw the Emperor, he attempted to run up to the sovereign, but Senna grasped his arm, pulling him back until he stood, properly, as decorum required, in front of the Centauri Emperor.

"And what are your names?" he asked, seeming to take an immediate interest in the children.

"Luc Deradi – and this is my sister, Lyssa," Luc told the Emperor proudly.

Senna watched to see if her father recognized the names or faces of the children under the protection of his own House, but nothing registered in his face as he gazed at the children.

"She doesn't talk much, does she?" the Emperor asked, reclining back against the throne's spine.

"No," Luc responded, "she's always quiet. We think maybe there's something wrong with her."

Senna squeezed Luc's arm, reminding him not to criticize his sister.

"Yes," Londo leaned forward, "or something very right. The quiet ones are the ones who change the universe, Luc Deradi. The loud ones only take the cr-credit." A coughing spell interrupted the Emperor, forcing him to cough into his handkerchief before he could continue, but Senna noticed her father's attention quickly return to the children.

"Are you really the Emperor?" Luc asked.

"I sometimes ask myself the same thing," Londo threw his spent handkerchief onto a nearby tray. "Yes, I am the Emperor. Here," he unclipped the seal around his neck, "you see? This is the seal of the Centauri Republic. Only the Emperor can wear it. So either I am the Emperor, or I am in a great deal of trouble – or both!" he chuckled, a lighter mood settling upon him. "Come here, you," he gestured to Luc and placed the seal around the boy's neck. "For the next five minutes, _you_ are the Emperor of what was once the vast Centauri Republic." Londo chuckled again, patting the boy on his arms as his good humor returned.

"You may give one order," the Emperor took a fluted glass of brivari in his hand as he settled back in his throne. "Any order you desire - make it a good one," he instructed the boy. "What do you want?"

After a moment of indecision, Luc demanded, "Tell me a story."

"Luc," Senna's tone warned the boy that he had overstepped, but to her surprise, Londo stopped her.

"No – no," Londo said. "It's all right. He did far better with that question than I did." The Emperor glanced at the children, "And what _kind_ of story would you like to hear?"

Lyssa leaned into Luc's ear, whispering, but the boy glanced at her with annoyance and shook his head. " _I_ want a story about great battles and wars and bravery and heroes and villains," he told the Emperor.

"I see," Londo replaced his glass on the tray, and his eyes watched Lyssa's face fall as she heard her brother's request. "And what does your sister want?"

"Nothing," Luc replied until his sister punched him in the arm. Reluctantly, he added, "She says she wants to hear a true story."

"Very well," Londo smiled at the children. "Then I will give you _both_ what you want – a story."

As he sat back in his throne, Senna noticed Londo's face brighten as he launched into a story for the children. As he recounted his tale, a smile crept over Senna's face, for she saw how the presence of the children lightened his mood, distracting him from the ruins of his city outside. The happiness was bittersweet for her, though, for he never caught her eye for more than a moment, and he did not appear to recognize her at all.

Nearing the end of his lengthy story, Londo rose and peered out the window toward the Capitol City's skyline. "It's ironic, isn't it?" his back turned, he seemed to be talking to himself as much as Senna and the children. "I had every window in the palace blocked off because I was afraid if I came around the corner and saw this, I would break down and cry, and yet I spend all of my time here, in this room, looking at it." He turned back to face Senna, and for the first time, he locked eyes with her, and she would remember his next bittersweet words in the months that followed.

"In my life," he told her, "I had four wives, and I cared for them all, deeply. But I _loved_ Centauri Prime. Loved every street, every tower, every inch of our world." He glanced back at the smoking skyline. "Everything I did, I did for her. And look what we have done to her." He turned back, his attention once again focused on Senna, "There is hope, but it will be hard. It will be so very hard." At last, he seemed to shake himself out of his dark thoughts. "Well, where was I? Yes, the war . . . ." He continued the story he was recounting for the children.

Senna listened contentedly as he wrapped up his story, astonished that he would give the children so much of his time. As he finished, Senna unhooked the seal from Luc's neck and Londo beckoned her to hook it back around his neck.

"I hope you were not inconvenienced, Majesty?" she asked softly as she rebuckled the clasp.

"No," he dismissed the notion, "Thank you for allowing me to see joy one more time," he did not meet her eyes as he added, "before it becomes too dark for me to see anything, anymore."

A wave of emotion rushed over Senna as she thought of all that had happened over the past few years including the revelations of the Drakh's presence and the effects of Londo's faltering memory. Her hearts broke at his words, and although she knew that a stranger would never dare break royal protocol and touch him, she could not help but place a compassionate hand on his shoulder in reassurance.

For a moment, he stared at her gesture of her touch, but before she could withdraw her hand, he placed his gloved hand over it. Not meeting her eyes, he said quietly, "Dear lady, I would love to walk with you on a beach, somewhere-" He finally met her eyes, and she read a plaintive and raw look written in his eyes. "-For just five minutes. How strange," he added, "to have come so far, and to want so little."

Senna felt a rush of emotion as she thought of their nightly walks on the beach at the Sea Palace. Those walks now seemed like they had happened a lifetime ago, but she remembered their last conversation on the beach, and her emotions caught in her throat. Senna stared at her adoptive father, wondering if his memory of their conversation had stirred in his mind as well. Before she could say anything, Londo turned to the children, breaking the moment by releasing her hand and turning his attention to Luc and Lyssa. "Children, will you remember this story? Will you remember me?"

"All my life, Majesty," Luc responded.

The Emperor smiled briefly, pleased by the response. "Very well."

As he continued speaking to the children, Senna's thoughts were interrupted when he broke into another hacking fit wrenching his body. "Now go," he said gently to the children, indicating he had business that he needed to attend to.

Ushering the children out of the throne room, Senna glanced over her shoulder at her father. She could see he was already lost in thought on other matters, but she smiled sadly as she thought of his comment about the beach and the way that the fog had seemed to lift from his mind when he spoken directly to her. Distracted by these thoughts, she ushered the children from his presence, but as she closed the doors to the throne room and turned into the palace hallway, she suddenly stopped, covering her mouth with a hand as her jaw trembled.

"What's wrong?" Luc asked her.

Biting her lip, she shook her head. "It's nothing," she reassured the children, pushing her emotions away as she took them each by the hand. "Now let's get you back to your mothers before they begin to worry."

* * *

Londo leaned back in his throne, coughing up phlegm before he glanced at the time again. Reaching for a small bell at his elbow, he rang it until Palco appeared.

Londo picked up an empty brivari bottle, gesturing to Palco with it. "I need another bottle – several more bottles – and then, wait one hour, and bring the prisoners here."

Palco nodded before turning on his heel to retrieve the Emperor's brivari.

The Emperor flipped on a view screen, and watched the events occurring in the prisoners' dungeon cells.

* * *

Sheridan's cell opened suddenly, and two guards accompanied a figure inside before leaving again.

"Who?" Sheridan struggled to see the figure in the darkness. "Who is it?"

"John," came the voice familiar to his ears.

"Delenn?" Sheridan called out.

"John!" Delenn answered as she closed the distance between them in a step and embraced him with relief.

"Delenn, what are you doing here?" Sheridan asked, his confusion over the time jump still disorienting him.

"I didn't tell them anything," Delenn told him quietly. "They tried to make me, but I didn't. There's nothing they can do to me. They know that now. So they say they're allowing us one last moment together before . . . ."

Sheridan shook his head in confusion.

"It is all right, John," Delenn continued, stroking his cheek. "I accepted this fate a long time ago. They cannot touch me. They cannot harm me. I'm not afraid. Not if you are with me. Our son is safe."

"Son?" Sheridan said in a daze.

"That is all that matters," Delenn added. "John, I love you." The pair entwined in a kiss.

* * *

Londo watched Delenn and Sheridan embrace, and he raised his brivari glass. "To the future," he toasted them before draining the rest of his glass, "my old friends."

* * *

Vir sat desolately in the darkened palace gardens, his head bowed. He had been there since Londo had heartlessly dismissed him, and Vir pulled out the note in his pocket for the hundredth time.

 _"Royal Adjutant_ ," the Prime Minister's note had started, detailing the virus that he had uploaded into the planetary defense grid and how the defense grid could be wrested back from Drakh control at the moment that virus struck.

The defense grid had been the last thing - the very last thing - that they needed to disable before the Resistance could launch its attack on the Drakh in the tunnels below Centauri Prime, and they had been waiting so patiently for that day. Now that it was upon him, Vir felt robbed of the victory by Londo's cruel words. But he knew, no matter what had happened, he needed to ensure the defense grid was disabled. He had decided not to leave the palace grounds in case he wouldn't be allowed back in, and now he glanced at his hands, helplessly waiting for the moments to tick away.

* * *

"Out. NOW," came a royal guard's decisive command.

Sheridan and Delenn were ushered out of their prison cell, and soon, they entered the throne room, flanked by three royal guards. Sheridan and Delenn carefully approached the unmoving figure in the darkness of the throne. As they did so, they noticed a fluted glass fall from the Emperor's gloved hand, and they inched closer for a better look.

"Close enough," the sound of Londo's voice stopped their forward motion as the guards fingered their weapons.

"You will excuse me if I do not stand. I have had considerable to drink," Londo added.

Delenn and Sheridan glanced at each other, hearing the slurring in Londo's words.

"It is the only way that we can be alone," Londo continued, his voice falling to a whisper. "We do not wish to wake it."

'Wake what?" Sheridan asked perplexed.

"Then you do not know?" Londo asked sincerely. "You cannot see it while it is awake. We all have our keepers, you see. I gave a very good performance. Yes, it was satisfied. Doesn't care why I do what I do, as long as I do it - as long as you are dead."

Londo leaned forward into the light, revealing the keeper on his shoulder, and both Sheridan and Delenn recoiled at the hideous sight of the keeper with its tentacles wrapped around the Emperor's shoulder.

The sight jogged something in Delenn's memory from years before, when Londo had visited them after David had been born. She had sensed something on Londo's shoulder but she had dismissed the brief image from her mind. Now the strange feeling returned, and she put a hand to her mouth.

"It cannot hold its liquor, you see," Londo told them. "I have learned that if I drink just enough, I can put it asleep for a few minutes – a few minutes where I am in charge of myself again, but the few minutes have been growing shorter and shorter, so we do not have much time." A cough wracked his body.

"My life is almost over," he told them. "My world – all I hoped for – gone. You two are my last chance, for this place, for my people, for my own redemption. There is a ship, hidden behind the palace. My guards will take you there. In exchange for your lives, all I ask, is that you and your allies help to free my people. I can do nothing more for them."

Londo leaned back into his throne. "Go now, quickly. You do not have much time. I can feel it beginning to wake up. Hurry. Go on!" He pointed them toward the door where his trusted royal guards were waiting.

Sheridan and Delenn took one last look at the Emperor, and as they turned toward the gates barring the throne room, they heard Londo fall into another fit of coughing.

* * *

As the guards ushered Sheridan and Delenn toward the exterior door of the palace, a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking their progress.

"G'Kar?" Sheridan grasped the Narn by the shoulders, his face brightening with disbelief.

G'Kar withdrew his note and pressed it into Sheridan's hand as his one good eye glanced from Sheridan to Delenn. "There is no time – but this," he gestured to the note, "will tell you everything you need to know. Read it at once, for there will be no time to spare. You will understand when you read it. Now _go_ ," he nodded to the guards.

Delenn grasped his arm, "Come with us, G'Kar."

G'Kar slowly shook his head sadly. "I am needed here," he told Delenn solemnly.

Delenn started to object, but G'Kar cut off her protests, "Soon, perhaps I can meet you on Minbar. Until then," he nodded and watched as the royal guards surrounded Delenn and Sheridan, duty bound to ensure that they reached the waiting ship safely.

* * *

Plancho happened to see Vir Cotto sitting desolately in the gardens on the palace grounds, and he ran up to the Royal Adjutant. "Your Excellency," he said out of breath, "the Lord High Admiral has been trying to reach the Emperor for some time. Since the Prime Minister took his own life, the Emperor must give the order to attack tonight or the ships will turn back, and the Lord High Admiral wanted to iron out some details before the transmission."

Vir knew that a major offensive was under way, but he had been so busy with Londo's other errands, the Resistance efforts in the South, and the trade talks that he had largely been out of the loop on the recent military strategy plans. He knew many of the Centauri's most powerful ships had been dispatched, but he had no idea that they _all_ had been ordered to offensive positions.

Vir blinked at Plancho's request. "Um," Vir glanced back at the palace, "Londo said that I should take care of the details for him," Vir lied, wondering what could be so important.

Plancho ushered Vir toward the Ministry of Defense, where the Lord High Admiral and the Lord High General went over the detailed plans for the Centauri attack on the Alliance with Vir.

"And when did you say the order must be transmitted or the ships will start returning?" Vir questioned the Lord High Admiral closely.

Upon his response, Vir pulled out the Prime Minister's scrawled message, noting the timing similarities. He reread the contents again. _This is the only opportunity to retake the Defense Grid from the Drakh_ , the Prime Minister had written him. _Ensure that you are in the control tower at the appointed time_. Now Vir understood the rest of the story - that the virus would attack not only their own defense grid but the Alliance ships and planetary defense systems as well. He crushed the paper in his hand, and he overturned his chair, making his apologies. "I'm sorry - I need to see the Emperor," he said as he stumbled out of the Ministry, headed for the palace.

* * *

As G'Kar entered the throne room from a side door, Londo heard him approaching.

"You are there, my old friend?" the Emperor asked quietly.

"Yes," G'Kar replied.

"They will never make it out alive unless–" Londo sighed, shaking his head as he gestured toward the door Sheridan and Delenn had disappeared out of. "You see, my keeper will awaken any second, and it will alert the others, and my only hope will die. And I will die soon after. They do not take betrayal lightly."

G'Kar knew that if the keeper awakened, the Drakh would perceive Londo's release of the prisoners as proof that Londo had never intended upon giving the attack order, and their anger would be swift. Too swift, and they might even be able to torture Londo into issuing the attack order before the zero hour.

G'Kar's face was grim as he considered their waning options.

"We have unfinished business between us, G'Kar. Let us make an end of it, quickly, before it stops me," Londo slurred, making the final decision. "I am as tired of my life as you are," he added.

As G'Kar stepped forward, Londo nodded slightly, encouraging the Narn to end his life swiftly and humanely before the Drakh could interfere.

In long years past, taking a Centauri's life would have given G'Kar pleasure, but those days had faded into the past long ago, and he took no solace in the grim task of wrapping his fingers around Londo's neck. G'Kar gritted his teeth as he squeezed, intent upon strangling his friend to save both of their worlds.

As his finger brushed Mollari's shoulder, the keeper's eye snapped open, and it panicked as it felt Mollari's consciousness fading into the darkness. The keeper telegraphed its fright to the Drakh Entire, and they screamed in anger, knowing that Mollari's life was their key to success in their attack against the Alliance. In anger and panicking for its own life, the keeper seized ahold of Mollari's nervous system, instantly forcing the Emperor's hands up to fend off G'Kar's attack.

Locked in a mortal struggle, neither G'Kar nor the keeper would capitulate, and Londo and G'Kar's airways were constricted by each other's hands until both fell to the ground, darkness overcoming them both, and the seal of the Centauri Republic fell from the Emperor's neck.

The keeper, sensing the death of its host panicked, and it extracted itself from the Emperor's shoulder, hoping to find its master or another host nearby, but as it skittered across the floor, it found no one close by, and it tucked its tentacles into its dying chest.

* * *

Vir Cotto rounded the corner to the throne room, and he came face-to-face with two of the Emperor's guards. The guards were completely unaware of the events that had just transpired within the throne room, for the guards had been busy ensuring Delenn and Sheridan had made their escape in the Emperor's ship.

"Let me by," Vir pleaded, but the two soldiers blocked his way.

"Emperor's orders. He is not to be disturbed."

"His orders . . ." Vir paused, realizing he couldn't get through the guards, ". . . were for me to report to him as soon as I received news from the Lord High Admiral. So…" he shrugged, "If you want to explain why you didn't let me report to him as he ordered, then . . . ."

The guards glanced at each other. "Apologies, Royal Adjutant," the guards stepped aside, allowing him to enter the throne room. Vir made his way into the throne room with reticence, for he sensed something was terribly wrong, and when he saw the bodies of G'Kar and Londo laying where they had fallen, his stomach turned upside-down.

As he crept closer, he noticed the seal of the Centauri Republic had fallen from Londo's neck, and he picked it up gently, staring at it with heavy hearts. At that moment, Vir heard a sound, and he turned, calling out for the guards as he saw the keeper's bloody tentacles shriveling up nearby, and he brought his heel down on it with anger, smashing it into a bloody pulp with a rage he rarely exhibited before he turned back to the bodies lying behind him.

There, the two guards were kneeling by the bodies, but before Vir could say anything further, the closest guard to G'Kar asked, "How do you take a Narn's pulse?"

Ignoring him, the other guard who was beside the Emperor looked up with urgency, "He's not breathing, but—"

"—but what?" Vir asked desperately.

"I think – I think there's still a pulse," the guard replied in earnest.

"Quickly," Vir commanded, "get the royal physician."


	42. Taming Nightmares

In a state of shock, Vir numbly watched the royal physician work frantically at the side of Londo and G'Kar.

"No breathing and no pulse," the Royal Physician muttered at G'Kar's side as he blinked rapidly. "Take him to the freezer," he ordered the guards hastily.

"The freezer?" the closest royal guard stared at the physician. "Not the hospital?"

"I don't have time for questions," the physician violently shoved the guard back toward the Narn, gesturing to them to hurry. "Quickly!" he added at their disappearing backs. "Ensure that the temperature slowly declines until it reaches -20°. And don't knock him around!" the physician called out emphatically as he wiped his sopping face.

As the physician turned back to the Emperor, Vir watched the physician's brow furrow. "The hospital," he ordered to the nearby soldiers.

As the physician prepared to follow his patient, Vir caught his sleeve. "Is there anything that I can do?" he offered, a sickness turning in his stomach.

The physician turned to Vir with an intense stare, "Inform the Emperor's family that they should meet him at the hospital," he clenched his jaw. "If they are to go at all, it is imperative that they go _immediately_. Do you understand? _Immediately_."

"Yes," Vir gulped, understanding the physician's implication, "I understand."

With a firm nod, the royal physician turned back around, running toward the soldiers transporting the Emperor's body to the nearest royal carriage.

* * *

With Centauri Prime disappearing behind the Emperor's personal royal cruiser, John Sheridan pulled G'Kar's letter from his pocket and handed it to Delenn "G'Kar said it was urgent."

As Sheridan continued to study the Centauri symbols on the flight controls, Delenn unfolded the letter. Her sharp intake of breath made Sheridan turn from the panel in concern. "What is it?"

"John," Delenn turned to him with a look of terror in her eyes. She glanced back at the note, pausing before she returned his gaze. "A virus will incapacitate our entire fleet and many of the Alliance home worlds in a short time. Centauri and Drakh ships are stationed in hyperspace, positioned to jump in and open fire while our forces are defenseless."

Sheridan looked up from the controls, staring at his wife, speechless.

"G'Kar writes that he believes the Centauri ships will return to Centauri Prime without firing. The Drakh ships on the other hand—"

Sheridan stared at his wife, "If they attack us when we can't defend ourselves . . . ."

"The bloodshed would be catastrophic, so we must find a way to counter attack," Delenn glanced back down at the letter. "G'Kar goes on to mention that Londo told him the Drakh have a base for their ships that isn't on Centauri Prime, but he said Londo did not have a chance to relay the exact location."

"It could be anywhere," Sheridan growled. "We'll never be able to find it without more information, and certainly not before they attack."

Delenn put a hand on her husband's arm, "That's not all, John. G'Kar said that the Drakh have placed a keeper on David – like the one we saw on Londo's shoulder," she glanced back at the letter detailing everything the Narn knew about the ability of a Drakh keeper, including the keeper's ability to telegraph everything its host heard to the Drakh and its ability to painfully enforce the Drakh's will.

Sheridan's features twisted in anguish as he heard the news before he looked back at his wife, "Of all the things Londo has done – to do _that_ to a child. _Our_ child! _Our son!_ " Sheridan's voice cracked in anguish and anger.

Delenn squeezed his arm knowingly. "We both knew something was wrong with David, and you suspected that David might be behind those security breaches, but neither of us wanted to believe it . . . ."

"Now we know," Sheridan's voice hardened. "David was involved – and all because Londo allowed the Drakh to place that _thing_ on him," Sheridan said, his chest heaving.

Delenn's fingers tightened around her husband's arm, "Do you blame David for those leaks?"

"No, of course not," Sheridan shook his head. "He's just a boy," Sheridan added.

Delenn asked softly, "Do you think David had a choice after they put that parasite on him?"

Sheridan's eyes locked with Delenn, and after a moment, they softened. "Of course not, but Londo is an adult. He should have—"

"—Should have what?" Delenn asked. "From G'Kar's letter, it is clear he believes Londo also has had little choice. You saw that horrible thing back at the palace yourself. We have every reason to trust G'Kar, and it was clear from what Londo said back at the palace that he was risking his life to release us."

Sheridan's angry expression melted, "Did the letter mention how the keeper could be removed?"

Delenn frowned at the letter "G'Kar mentions a few pieces of information that might prove useful." Delenn folded the letter again, softly running her thumb over the creases G'Kar had made in folding it. "As much as it pains us both, the imminent threat is to the Alliance, not to David." Delenn sighed as she thought of her son, his safety no longer assured. "But, I think I've got a plan."

* * *

Vir waved to the remaining royal guards. "There are Drakh intruders," he whispered to the guard, his voice trembling. "Evacuate the grounds, and seal off the palace. You will have to clear it room by room."

The Captain had paled to a sickly white. "Yes, Royal Adjutant," he snapped his heels.

Vir's eyes fell to the ground. "Start with the royal suite," Vir said softly.

* * *

Michael Garibaldi and General Susan Ivanova were huddled together with General Duval, among other Alliance soldiers and politicians, talking in muffled tones. The atmosphere at Alliance headquarters had been muted since the news of President Sheridan and Delenn's kidnapping.

"I know you weren't able to get very far through official channels," Garibaldi told the generals. "But my private contacts were able to trace the transports carrying John and Delenn to a rendezvous in the Drazi system. That's where they lost the scent."

"Our intelligence," Duval rubbed his forehead, "would indicate the Drazi likely weren't involved."

"The kidnappers probably took a route through the Drazi system to throw us off," Ivanova agreed.

"Intel or not, we all know it was the Centauri," Garibaldi stated, matter-of-factly. "They are the only ones that have anything to gain from kidnapping Alliance leaders these days. Time is ticking – so the question is – what are you going to do about it?"

"A frontal assault on the Centauri at this stage is out of the question. And we would need a lot more intelligence before a surgical extraction would even be possible," Duval rubbed his beard.

"Maybe we can appeal to Londo," Ivanova mused.

"If the Centauri are involved, he would have signed off on the operation to kidnap to kidnap them himself," Garibaldi muttered.

The group considered their limited options in silence.

"Apologies," a Minbari Ranger approached the group. "We have received a priority communication. It is from President Sheridan and Entil'Zha Delenn."

The group look at each other with surprise. As the stunned group looked at each other in amazement, Garibaldi addressed the ranger, "Well, connect them through already."

Delenn appeared on the screen and after hurriedly detailing her plan, she finally took a breath, letting her words sink in.

"That's quite a gamble," Ivanova glanced at the screen.

"It's all that lies between our people and catastrophe," Sheridan replied.

* * *

Vir crossed the palace lawn, headed for a small building on the outskirts of the palace's grounds. The doors flashed open, and the two Centauri manning the desk stood up abruptly.

"Your Excellency," one sputtered, overturning his chair as he stood, "what brings you to the power grid building?"

"I need to send a message," Vir told them. "Is there a private room here?"

"Yes," the other worker extended his hand. "Follow me, Excellency."

They walked in silence until the Centauri ushered Vir into a small room. As the door closed, Vir punched the communications console in front of him.

"Phylakios," he said to the screen, his hearts heavy. "The moment we have been waiting for is upon us." In a few short words, he gave Phylakios the exact time that the Resistance operation within the tunnels beneath Centauri Prime should begin.

Phylakios' face was grim but determined as his face blinked off the console, leaving Vir alone again.

* * *

After nodding to the rangers guarding the personal residence of Sheridan and Delenn, Garibaldi found David sitting in the garden out back.

"Uncle Mike," David templed his fingers in a traditional Minbari greeting. "Any news?"

"Plenty," Garibaldi grinned. "Thought you might want to come over and see what's going on."

David's eyebrows shot up. "Are they ok? My parents – you've found them?"

Garibaldi nodded with a smile. "They're just fine - come on," he jerked his head toward the front door.

* * *

Within a few minutes, David found himself at the familiar Alliance headquarters. General Susan Ivanova flashed him a smile and Duval waved him into the conference room where rangers flitted in and out with information.

"Great news, David! President Sheridan and Entil'Zha Delenn were able to escape their captors on Centauri Prime," General Duval glanced at David before his gaze returned to the other Alliance officials. "Come join us," he waved David toward a seat nearby.

"And now that they have informed us about the imminent attack by Centauri and Drakh forces," Duval turned back to the group, "we can plan a counterattack. Time is short, but we can manually isolate the virus by switching to backup systems, rendering it powerless during the window they are going to attack us. In addition, we've ordered all the mothballed ships and long range artillery out of storage that we can prepare in time. They are going to find a very nasty surprise waiting for them."

"Looking at the stats," one of the rangers pushed a paper forward, "we'll be able to give them a run for their money – and, if the Centauri don't join in the attack as Entil'Zha Delenn indicated – I think we have upwards of 80% chance of incapacitating the entire Drakh fleet. Ninety-five percent chance we completely decimate their forces."

"A little optimistic, wouldn't you say?" Ivanova glanced at the numbers.

"All right," Duval grinned, "I'm not one for celebrating in advance, but unquestionably, justice will be served. Thank goodness we received the intel just in time."

The group nodded heartily as David watched from his seat nearby.

* * *

Shiv'kala roared in anger, his eyes blazing. The emperor had fallen, and there was no clear successor to the throne under the Drakh's thumb. In addition, the prisoners had escaped, and they had revealed the surprise attack to the Alliance.

 _"_ _We can still go through with our attack,"_ Shiv'kala urged the Drakh Entire.

" _No_ ," the response came with the force of the collective mind. _"Now that they know about the attack, they are in a position to destroy us. We must send the ships back to our base_."

Shiv'kala howled with frustration. " _All of this time – all of this work!_ " He could feel the collective's pain joining with his own.

 _"_ _Patience, elder_ ," their collective voice soothed him. " _All is not lost_. _Time will rebuild what we have lost today._ "

Shiv'kala howled in fury again, desperate for the revenge that was being pulled from the Drakh's fingertips, and angry that their meticulous plans had been abandoned.

* * *

Vir glanced at the time, and adrenaline spread through his body. He raced across the palace lawn to a Ministry of Defense building containing one of the planetary defense grid control rooms, his hearts beating out of his chest from the exertion. He glanced at his watch, any minute now the virus would strike. Reaching the control room, two Ministry of Defense officials buckled backward as he shoved them out of the way. _"Royal orders_ ," he sputtered, pulling out the note with the instructions on how to reprogram the defense grid while it was down.

The officials moved aside for the Royal Adjutant, and as the moment of the virus struck, the lights dimmed and the computer consoles restarted themselves.

"Grid's down," one of the functionaries called from across the room, frowning.

Vir frantically punched in a few codes, hoping the instructions would be enough to wrest the control of the planet's defense grid back from the Drakh's control.

Working just as frantically, the Defense Ministry officials punched in their codes, watching the system recover itself.

As soon as Vir finished, the functionary glanced at him and nodded, "Everything appears to have reset. Grid is back online."

Vir sat back in his seat, wiping sweat from his brow. "There's been an intruder in the system for some time," he informed them quietly.

The Defense Ministry officials exchanged glances. "If that is true, Royal Adjutant, this system-wide reset should wipe out any unauthorized access. We proposed a systemwide security update years ago, but we received word that the Emperor had refused our requests repeatedly . . . ."

"Do it," Vir said quietly.

The Defense Ministry officials bowed. "Of course, Your Excellency. We will proceed with the delayed updates in phases as soon as possible, and we will provide the Emperor with the new security protocols."

"Let me know if you detect any breaches," Vir said, his eyes falling.

"Of course, Excellency," came the reply.

* * *

Phylakios stared at the clock counting down. Just after he had spoken with Vir, Phylakios had calmly sent a transmission to the Resistance cells he had been meticulously training for the past few years, calling them to duty. At the appointed hour, at the same moment Vir was ensuring the defense grid was wrested from Drakh control, Phylakios held his breath and flipped a small switch, detonating the fusion bombs within the cave catacombs beneath Centauri Prime.

He turned grimly from the monitor, knowing the smoke and dust wouldn't clear from the cave entrances quickly, but his troops would need to move swiftly to catch the Drakh before they could regroup.

"All available Resistance cells with telepath liaisons have been dispatched to the designated cave openings around the Great Centauri Plain," one of his soldiers told him.

"General," another soldier in the crisp white of the royal guards approached him. "There is news from the palace – His Majesty has been taken to the hospital, and the guards report that efforts to revive him have been unsuccessful."

Phylakios was quiet as he studied the battle plans. "Send word to the Royal Adjutant that the mission has begun," he said at last. He turned and stood taller. "And double the guards assigned to Her Majesty and the Princess."

* * *

John Sheridan and Delenn waited with bated breath at the hour of the virus's attack. Still flying toward Minbar in Londo's personal royal cruiser, at last, they heard a familiar voice chirp over the communications console.

"Mister President," General Ivanova appeared on the viewscreen.

"Susan," Sheridan managed a faint grin, "What news?"

"The rouse worked," Ivanova informed him with a nod. "The information about being able to counterattack that we fed them through David appears to have stopped their plans. Not one attack has been reported – neither by Centauri or by Drakh ships. By now, we believe all targeted ships and defense systems should have been able to neutralize the virus. The imminent threat is over."

"Oh John," Delenn hugged her husband in happiness.

"I can't believe it," Sheridan said in a daze. "What about David?"

"He is doing fine – We contacted Dr. Franklin as he is one of the leading experts on alien xenobiology. Dr. Franklin suggested that we anesthetize David to prevent the Drakh's keeper from killing him in retaliation for your escape. He was rendered unconscious before he even knew what was happening, and Garibaldi has been by his side ever since. In addition, Dr. Franklin took the first flight to Minbar and will meet you when you arrive to discuss options for David," Ivanova informed them.

John let a breath of relief before turning to Delenn. "We'll find a way to get that thing off him," he told her, and Delenn nodded.

* * *

The courtiers gathered at the royal hospital parted, an unseen hand swiftly dividing them into two, allowing a narrow walkway through the aisles to where Princess Senna was waiting, her face ashen with worry. Hearing silence suddenly descend upon the throng at her heels, Princess Senna turned. "Oh, you're here," she threw her arms around the pale and thin figure that had appeared.

The Empress's appearance drew some gasps as she moved through the crowd. Her pallor had changed into a sickly tint, she had lost weight since her last public appearance, and she moved slowly, as if she willed each laborious step forward through the power of her resolve alone.

"Of course I'm here," Timov arched an eyebrow at the implication that she might not have come. "Vir sent a message."

Timov embraced her daughter before turning back to the door behind them, and, waving a hand, the rest of the throng parted, bowing before Timov's regal white visage.

The two disappeared through the door, but at the sight of the imperial guards at the next door, Senna paused.

Timov turned, seeing Senna's expression.

Senna drew back her hand to wipe away her tears, "There's still hope, on this side of that door," she said softly. "I'm not quite ready to trade it in for something more definitive yet."

Timov nodded slowly, "I'll speak with the doctors," she embraced her daughter again before turning again and nodding at the imperial guards, who snapped to attention, allowing her to pass into the next room.

* * *

The Royal Physician turned to see the Empress, his eyes widening as the Empress's attention focused on him and not on the figure lying just behind him.

Getting directly to the matter at hand, Timov asked him pointedly, "What is the condition of my husband? Unsurprisingly, I'm told the Centaurum is already aflutter with rumors."

"I'm sorry," the Royal Physician said quietly, bowing at Timov's appearance before chewing on his lip with a weak expression on his face. "We have done everything within our power to save the Emperor, but—if he had not had his replacement hearts, the Emperor would have died on the palace floor. Although his Majesty's heart replacements have continued to function - to circulate his blood - the lack of oxygen . . . ." his voice trailed off. "They have been able to keep his body alive, but the lack of oxygen at the hands of the Narn was too much for his body. We have not detected any brain activity. I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but Emperor Mollari II is brain dead."

Silence settled on the room as an arched expression crossed Timov's face. Internally, her hearts seized at the words. Londo had serious medical problems before the events of the day; nevertheless, she was taken aback at the finality of the diagnosis. "Must be old age," she thought to herself as she choked back the uncomfortable well in her stomach.

"Would you like us to . . ." the Royal Physician helplessly gestured at the life support machine regulating the Emperor's pulse and breathing. "Taking His Majesty off life support would preserve his dignity rather than an extended ordeal before the public eye. . . ."

The Empress walked forward slowly, finally taking a prolonged look at her husband's motionless form, the life support machine forcing breath into his lungs and powering the remaining life in his body. "He is the Emperor. There is no man who may dictate the hour and time of his death," she said, the dignified weight of her words hanging in the air, "That is between the Emperor and the gods. Not you."

The Royal Physician bowed his head. "Of course, Majesty."

"How long does he have?"

The Royal Physician scratched an ear, his eyes studying the floor. "The artificial hearts will continue beating for years, and the life support can breathe for him indefinitely. It is his internal organs that will fail – and they have been severely compromised for some time, as you remember from our conversation after his heart replacement. I do not expect that His Majesty has much time left, especially after the events of today, even with every surgical intervention we can offer him. With the internal bleeding and congestion on his lungs, it may be mere hours. With surgery, perhaps a few weeks, at the most."

She looked back at the doctor, "You know, Londo was rather fond of telling everyone that he was indestructible after his second heart was replaced, and the gods know Londo likes to be right. But as usual, he was only half right."

"If you would like us to send him back to surgery to buy a few days . . . ?"

"Artificially extending his life won't change the reality of the situation," Timov said curtly. "And it would be highly impractical."

"I _am_ sorry, Majesty," the doctor said.

Timov nodded slightly, and with her eyes, she dismissed the doctor and waited as he exited before she turned back to face Londo when they were alone.

As the door closed behind the Royal Physician, Timov folded her arms. "You won't even have the decency to get up and greet me," she said half-heartedly in the silence of the room. Finally, she softened, watching the stillness of Londo's body, a deep frown settling upon her face as she said quietly, "No," she looked down at her hands, "I suppose not."

Timov turned her eyes to the breathing tubes protruding awkwardly from Londo's trachea from where the doctors had forced an incision to allow him to breathe, his windpipe and voice box crushed, the purple bruising caused by G'Kar's hands evident along his upper throat. She listened to the wheezing gasp of air being pushed through the tubes, strain evident even under the methodical pressure of the machine. After studying the situation in silence, she drew the sheet covering his upper torso away from his chest, and her hand recoiled ever so slightly as she saw Londo's ragged shoulder, bloody incision holes from the keeper evident. A few remaining tendrils hung from his shoulder, ripped from the organism in its haste to depart Londo's dying body.

She replaced the sheet gently, touching her fingers to her lips as she turned her back to Londo, staring out the window, her eyes blinking faster and faster as her jaw quivered. "Why must you make everything so difficult, Londo?" she asked quietly. She flicked the corner of her eyes with a manicured finger.

Turning back to her husband, Timov stared at the machine forcing Londo to breathe before pinching her closed eyes with one hand. "Great Maker," she whispered. "I have withstood much during my lifetime, including 40 years of marriage to Londo Mollari, but may the gods help me if this is what they have written for his end."

Timov took her husband's cold hand, grasping it tightly. "Do you remember that you made me promise that I would come to your bedside when you were dying? Well, here I am, as you asked." She took a deep breath as she watched his chest rising and falling, telling him, "I will be back tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that." She bit her lip, chastising herself for the emotion broiling in her chest. "And the gods help you in the afterlife, Londo Mollari, if you deny me those days." Carefully, tenderly, she laid his cold hand back upon his chest.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Timov rang for the doctor, and the Royal Physician appeared at the door.

"Doctor," she said, "Londo was a great lover of everything life had to offer, and while I am a woman of practicality, I doubt he would wish to give his political opponents the satisfaction of a swift exit. He is the Emperor until his body gives out. Send him back to surgery. Provide him any relief you are able."

The Royal Physician nodded, but offered his palms toward the Empress. "We can reconstruct his crushed windpipe which should help him breathe and reduce the water on his lungs–"

"–And see to his shoulder," Timov instructed.

"Those appendages," the Royal Physician gestured toward Londo shoulder, "and the internal nerve damage they caused – it is quite severe. It would be best if we identified–"

"There's hardly any need for identification," Timov said abruptly. "They belong to the Drakh. They have had their claws in him for some time now, quite literally. You will remove any of their filth that remains embedded in him and then prepare a report that we will release to the public as soon as possible. It is time to shine a light on what has been happening in our government before a despot attempts to succeed them. In the meantime, ensure that they are removed. I don't think Londo would want any part of _that thing_ left inside him."

"Of course, Majesty," the Royal Physician agreed. "But I want to reiterate that no matter how much surgical intervention we provide, his Majesty's condition is not reversible."

Timov folded her hands primly as she pursed her lips. "You already informed me of the situation, Doctor, and I understand it perfectly. Nevertheless, do whatever you can for him. The rest will be his choice - a luxury he has been denied for some time - even if that choice is merely the hour of his death."

"As you command," the Royal Physician bowed.


	43. New Beginnings

After Vir received word from Phylakios that the underground operation had begun, Vir made his way to the hospital, knowing that Senna was already waiting there. When he reached the hospital, he fought his way through the crowd until he found his wife, hugging her as worry marred his face.

"Oh Vir," she hugged him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here earlier," he mumbled.

"I know you came as soon as you could," she reassured him.

Vir slumped into the nearest chair, but he did not ask any questions about Londo's condition. He knew, already, from what he had seen at the palace that the news would not be good.

Senna grasped Vir's hand tightly, and she turned to him, fighting tears. "You know, I think Papa _knew_."

"What do you mean?" Vir asked her, drawing closer.

Senna's gaze was unfocused, remembering her previous exchange with Londo. "When I saw him, just before _it_ happened, he spoke to me like he _remembered_ me. I can't describe it – it was as if he was saying goodbye to me. He must have known what would happen a few hours later."

Vir's eyes fell again, an even deeper sadness descending upon him.

"Did he say anything to you?" Senna asked him.

"Nothing like that," Vir replied quietly.

As the two were talking, Empress Timov appeared solemnly in the doorway, and Senna and Vir sprang from their seats. Senna's eyes were desperate even as Vir stared at the ground, but Senna sensed the finality in her mother's expression.

Timov shook her head slowly, "His body is all that remains – his mind is gone."

Stillness settled over the room, and Senna fell backwards, clutching Vir's hand for support. "I'd like to see him," she said quietly.

"Quickly then," Timov told her daughter. "He'll be back in surgery soon – although the gods know that it will do little good for him in his present state."

Senna passed through the doorway, pausing when she sensed Vir was not following.

"I'll wait here," Vir told her, gesturing toward the door. "A daughter's time with her father shouldn't be interrupted."

Senna stared at Vir with a mixed expression. Torn, she paused a moment, but at last, she turned and disappeared through the doorway.

* * *

Vir approached Timov's side, quickly turning to matters of state. "The defense grid has been reset, preventing the Drakh from accessing it, and the siege in the tunnels has already begun. I ordered the guards to search the palace for Drakh intruders, but it isn't safe to go there – not yet."

Timov listened politely before asking, "Do we have any answers about what happened to Londo? I don't have to tell you that G'Kar's involvement in this incident will color our politics with the Narn for decades."

"There's some raw security footage from the throne room – Londo must have turned it on before . . ." Vir stared at the floor, trying to wrestle words from the tightness in his throat, "Anyway, I reviewed the video. It was clear that Londo bid G'Kar to kill him to prevent our ships from attacking undefended Alliance civilians. I'll have a full file on the situation for you to review shortly."

"Where is G'Kar's body now?" Timov asked, her lips taunt.

"I don't know," Vir replied. "I saw the guards carrying him from the throne room after they confirmed that he wasn't breathing and had no heartbeat."

"I don't know what we can do about the situation," Timov said. "The Narn will declare war as soon as they hear that he is dead. They've had cruisers stationed along our border for some time now."

"Do you mean what _you_ will do about it?" Vir asked, twisting his hands.

"What _I_ will do about it?" Timov furrowed her brow, staring at Vir, puzzled.

"As long as Londo lives, you are the regent once again," Vir replied

Timov's knuckles turned white as she confronted the thought that she was now permanently in charge of the country until the machine forced Londo to take his last breath. She certainly hadn't enjoyed her last turn as regent, and now she knew that the stakes were even higher. The thought that Londo's terminal condition brought with it such a crushing commitment turned her stomach.

Timov touched her fingertips to her head in thought before her manicured hand fell back to her side with a sigh. "It is possible that Londo's obstinateness in dying will bring our country a modicum of stability when it desperately needs some," she said thoughtfully. "But I no longer know if I am up to the task, Vir," she added, as she considered her own declining health.

"But you have to," Vir responded. "We _need_ you – the country is at war – with the Drakh, with itself, possibly with the Alliance. Who else could unite our country at this time? The people know you and the ministers respect you. It is a historical certainty that the royal houses will be at each other throats at the news of Londo's condition."

"Yes," Timov agreed. "They will each try to claw their own way onto the throne. But they will never allow a woman to rule them."

"They already have," Vir pointed out. "Five years ago, no one would have disagreed with your assessment of the current situation. But much has changed in that time - and all because you have already proven that you can rule. I do not think the noble houses will question your place as regent until Londo passes away. Besides if Londo is not yet dead, it is _the law_ that his regent rule in his place."

Timov considered Vir's words. "It is the law," she echoed, trying to convince herself. "I will do what I can for as long as my illness allows," she stated firmly, though the expression on her face was not as determined. "In the meantime," she turned back to Vir, "Are you quite sure you don't want to see Londo?"

"No," Vir shook his head, looking away.

Timov studied his face for a moment before she added, "Something is bothering you."

Vir's eyes fell to the ground, "Londo wouldn't want me in there," he said, gesturing to Londo's hospital room.

Timov peered closer at him, "Londo has counted you as one of his most trusted advisors for over two decades. What would give you the impression that he would not want you by his side?"

Vir's head sank, hurt marring his face. "He said things to me before – before it happened." Thick tears welled in his eyes, "Terrible things. He told me that he didn't want to see me again."

Timov clasped her hands in front of her, "I see." She glanced up as she noticed a few new royal guards mustering at her door, but she waved them away. "Tell me, Vir, if you had known what was going to happen, would you have tried to stop it?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation.

Timov nodded, "You know Londo – he will do anything, say anything, to achieve what he wants when he deems it necessary. Is it possible he had his reasons for sending you away? That perhaps he believed it was necessary, even at the cost of your friendship?"

Vir looked up sharply, "Senna said that she felt that Londo knew what was going to happen – and reviewing the video it became obvious that he orchestrated what happened today. He managed to say goodbye to Senna but to me – to me . . ." his voice drifted off. "It's just not fair for him to leave like that," he added. "If he _knew_ what was going to happen, then it is even _more_ cruel. He knew that every time I thought of him, I would remember how everything ended – the vile things he said to me."

"Welcome to the club," Timov said with a sigh.

"What do you mean?" Vir asked.

"Londo sent Senna and I away from the palace some years ago – it was as close to banishment as I think he dared. Then, he tried to kill me, imprisoned me in the dungeon, and planned my execution. It all looks quite unreasonable from the outside, but both Senna and I are still here, alive. It is no coincidence that he sent you away _today_ , on the day that he sacrificed his life. Perhaps he was afraid that you would stop him or perhaps he was afraid that you would get hurt. I won't defend his methods, Vir, the gods know Londo has done some despicable things, but like it or not, he usually has his reasons - though we might not ever know, exactly, what they were. What we do know, Vir, is that he loves you. He always has."

Vir's jaw quivered, he dragged his sleeve across his red eyes. "But still, to leave like that - how could he do it? After all these years . . . ."

Timov squeezed Vir's arm, "If you haven't been subjected to the nastier side of Londo's machinations, then he doesn't really care for you, hmm?"

Timov and Vir's conversation was interrupted by the sight of young Toscanelli, the Cabinet aide Plancho, and the former Prime Minister Wesa as they made their way into the waiting area.

"Majesty," Plancho and Wesa bowed as Toscanelli stiffly did the same.

"The Centaurum requests an update on His Majesty's condition," Wesa addressed the Empress.

"Lord Wesa," Timov addressed the portly man, "you seem to spring anew like pestilence every time there is bad news. What brings you out of the abyss?"

Wesa frowned with annoyance. "I am here to serve," he replied. "And His Majesty's condition is the entire Republic's concern."

Timov sighed, recognizing that she would need to communicate Londo's situation to the Centaurum as soon as possible. "Londo will not rise again, but his body still draws breath."

Wesa exchanged glances with Toscanelli.

"Rumors suggest His Majesty is brain dead," Toscanelli said abruptly to Timov, staring at her intensely, "and if it is true that you have chosen to send a man in his condition to surgery to prolong his life, then your appetite for power knows no bounds."

"You are making some rather sweeping generalizations about my motives," Timov's eyes narrowed as a flash of anger ran through her chest.

"You wish to remain Regent for as long as you can," Toscanelli growled. "You think that propping up a dead man is your key to ruling our county."

"If you think this situation pleases me, you are very much mistaken," Timov responded pointedly, her patience with the young man already running out.

"President Toscanelli," Vir interjected, addressing the young lord, "This is neither the time nor the place to lodge such complaints . . . ."

Several newly arrived royal guards surrounded the group, making their bristling presence known to the Centaurum President.

"As Regent, you may officially declare Emperor Mollari II dead – he is as good as dead anyway," Toscanelli said archly, ignoring Vir's comments. "Let the Centaurum choose a new Emperor. How can you deny the country the leadership they need during this crisis?"

"I see that while you have your father's position, you have none of his political acumen," Timov observed dryly. "We will speak of this at a more appropriate time, President Toscanelli," Timov dismissed him with a nod to the guards.

As Toscanelli and Wesa disappeared, Plancho remained. "Majesty," he said, "it is imperative that we move you to a secure location."

"Have the Great House prepared as a temporary measure until the palace is restored. For now, my place is here - there's no telling how long Londo has." Abruptly, Timov turned around, glancing at the door to Londo's hospital room where a flurry of activity was forming, and in a moment, doctors whisked by, deep in tense conversation.

"What's going on?" Timov asked, but at first, no one answered her. Finally, the Royal Physician approached hurriedly, a deep frown etched upon his face.

"What's happened with Londo?" Timov asked, her hearts sinking.

"The Emperor remains in surgery – but it is Her Royal Highness who has caused the commotion," came the Royal Physician's response. "It was the stress of the day - I'm afraid she's gone into premature labor."

Timov glanced at Vir, whose face had paled to ashen white.

* * *

Phylakios stared at the plans silently. He had known the Drakh would not fall without resistance, considering that they infested the tunnels beneath Centauri Prime without an escape route from the planet. The exits to the tunnels had effectively been blocked by the detonation of the fusion bombs, sealing off the tunnels' major passageways, but the rubble and destruction underneath Centauri Prime had triggered intense hand-to-hand combat between his Resistance fighters and the Drakh.

Having been informed of the Empress's assumption of power, Phylakios had sent several coded messages to her to update her on the advancement of the troops, but the Drakh were putting up a fierce resistance. Phylakios had made his way to one of the remaining entrances being used by Resistance troops, encouraging them as they descended into the depths of the tunnels and greeting them as they emerged from the depths, wounded and shocked from the battle raging underneath the surface.

"We have them backed into a few remaining tunnels," one of the lieutenants informed Phylakios, "but don't be fooled, they are throwing everything they have at us to make it to the few remaining exits. They haven't given any indication of surrendering."

Puck Marcanti, one of the leaders of the Southern Resistance fighters, swung a leg over a chair, settling himself in the chair before he addressed the group of Resistance leaders. "I already have reports of the Drakh using our people against us. They are placing keepers on captured fighters with promises to let them go, but instead, the Drakh are forcing them to run back into our troops before detonating explosives. They've taken out a handful of teams already, and the Drakh are picking off any telepath they can find first. Their strategy is leaving our teams blind, disorganized, and disabled. The result is that our people are getting demoralized - and fast."

"It's a desperate situation," another Resistance captain added. "We're running out of people already. And if the Drakh get to the surface . . . ."

No one wanted to consider what might happen if the Drakh were able to make their way out of the caves.

"We must hold the entrances," Phylakios told them, "at all costs."

"Sir," a captain interjected, "what if there are tunnel entrances that we have missed? If the Drakh get into the general population – they'll have no qualms against putting keepers on every person they encounter."

"Yes," Phylakios nodded solemnly, "we must reiterate to our forces that we are the only line between our citizens and catastrophe. We must redouble our efforts. Our _only_ chance is a swift victory, even if it is a bloody one."

But over the next several hours, the situation continued to deteriorate and the Drakh began to propel the Resistance forces backwards, inching closer to their escape from the caves.

* * *

Vir departed the conference room to be at his wife's side as the doctors worked frantically to end the prematurely induced labor and save the infant, and Timov waited anxiously in a nearby conference room that had been converted into her temporary command headquarters. Knowing that Vir was by Senna's side and that there was nothing more that could be done for the moment, Timov kept her mind from Senna's serious medical situation by busying herself with the updates on the Resistance forces' progress.

"The Narn forces stationed outside our borders seem to be moving into position for an attack," one of the Defense Ministry underministers informed her, nervousness reaching his eyes.

" _Great Maker_ ," Timov said, putting out a hand to balance herself against the conference table, "what else can possibly go wrong today?" She shook her head, "I'm sure the Narn have gotten wind that G'Kar has been killed, and our forces have not yet returned from their abandoned errand ordered by the Drakh. We are completely unprepared for an attack. They will decimate us."

The Royal Physician had returned to the conference room, preparing to give the Empress an update on his royal patients. "Majesty," he interjected, his voice filled with urgency, and the Empress and the underministers turned toward the doctor. "While the Narn had no life signs when I left the palace, and while I have been unable to check on him, I had his body cooled at the palace in the hopes that . . . ." his voice trailed off.

"The hopes that what?" Timov asked, her eyes narrowing.

The doctors turned his palms skyward, trying to offer an explanation. "G'Kar was injured in the recent defense grid malfunction, and the Emperor ordered me to read up on Narn physiology so that I could treat him. In doing so, I read about a rare Narn condition that can be triggered by certain considerations, such as a lack of blood flowing to the brain. There's no telling if he can even be revived, but . . . ."

"I don't have to tell you," Timov said quietly, "what his life means for the relations between our people. And perhaps for our own people's lives in the next several hours. As soon as the palace is cleared, the guards will escort you there. Do everything in your power for him. If he is, in fact, deceased, the Narn will not hesitate to attack us, especially if they learn that it was at Londo's hands. The Narn, if they attack us now, will easily be able to turn our disorganization against us. This complication really is the _last_ thing we need at this moment."

"The difficulty," the physician responded, "is that I really do not have the knowledge to treat him – and there is no telling if I read his situation correctly. What I do know is if he _is_ in hibernation, he cannot be jostled or moved. Upsetting the body can knock him out of hibernation before his body has an opportunity to heal itself, and it would likely kill him."

Timov stared at the doctor, running scenarios through her mind. She turned to the other officials in the room, "Open a channel to the Narn vessels stationed at our borders. We will inform them of G'Kar's situation. They already know something has happened. We will need their help to finish clearing the palace in a timely manner and their expertise to treat G'Kar, if anything can still be done for him."

"Majesty," one of the defense underministers stepped forward. "It is _very_ risky. The Narn will likely be inclined to use our weakness against us. We could instigate a Narn occupation instead of a Drakh one."

"Frankly," Timov said candidly, "I would rather live under a Narn occupation than the Drakh one that has subverted our civilization in darkness. In any event, we have little choice. Open the channel."

* * *

Phylakios grimaced as the body counts in the battle for Centauri Prime's tunnels continued to rise. The Drakh were fighting with the passion and desperation of a doomed people.

"Another few hours, General," came the report from one of the Resistance captains, "and the entrances will fall to the Drakh. Our people are quickly becoming demoralized, and our lines are wearing thin.

Phylakios stared at the ground before he gestured for the a communication to be sent to the Empress.

"Madam Regent," Phylakios bowed at the Empress's image that appeared on the screen.

"General," she dipped her head, a rare observance of respect for a sovereign to one of her subjects.

"I cannot relay the severity of the situation," Phylakios told her. "We are at risk of the Drakh making their way out of the tunnels and among the general populace. We have tried to take prisoners . . . ."

Timov arched one brow. "Some time ago, I gave the Drakh a choice when Londo had his heart attack," she told Phylakios. "I offered them a truce – a peaceful solution to all that has gone on between our people, but they refused." Her features hardened. "They turned down their chance at peace with us. There will be no prisoners in the tunnels," she ordered him.

Phylakios' face fell into stone. "Majesty," he said quietly, "we have but one chance to stop them from emerging from the caves and attempting to forcibly hold the general populace with their keepers. I recommend an all out attack with all of our remaining forces."

Timov read Phylakios's eyes. "That sounds like a very high body count."

Phylakios nodded, "You must risk to gain," he said simply. "And the alternative is, in my opinion, unacceptable . . . ."

Timov considered what it would be like for the Centauri to be controlled by the Drakh parasites indefinitely. "Do it," she nodded. "And may the gods bring you fortune."

Phylakios nodded as the screen blinked off. He turned to his lieutenants. "Muster all the forces that we have - even if they are wounded but able to fight. We must take the caves tonight, quickly, before our forces become more despondent and before the Drakh are able to escape. We will need every person."

Puck Marcanti sprang to his feet, his brother Turo by his side. "At your command, General," the Marcantis saluted.

Phylakios found his coutari, and he buckled it at his side. "Our friends in the tunnels are tiring," he said quietly, "so let us bring them some relief."

Stoically, the Resistance General marched down to the Centauri tunnels, passing by the weary ranks of Resistance fighters lying wounded nearby. Seeing his despondent troops, the General cheered them with his presence and offered them encouragement with his words.

Turo Marcanti put a hand on his brother's chest as he began to follow the General into the tunnels. "Not with your leg, Puck," he nodded toward his brother's prosthetic. "It might be as good as new – but it isn't quite good enough for battle."

"You are my _little_ brother, remember?" Puck grinned at his brother. "Besides, you heard the General. We need every man who can lift a coutari." Puck turned, following the General, a slight hitch in his step from the prosthetic.

Turo threw back his shock of hair with one hand, but he grasped the hilt of his courtari with a sigh and followed his brother toward the cave's entrance.

Unsheathing his coutari, Phylakios led the few remaining Resistance troops into the dark recesses of the tunnels, engaging in hand-to-hand battle as he pushed his troops forward with the flash of his white uniform.

Over the next several hours, the brothers fought at the heels of the General, slashing their ways though the tunnel.

Turo was particularly impressed by the quiet bravery of their commanding General who stopped his progress only to cheer his wounded and despondent troops, praising them for the ground that they had gained and constantly encouraging their forward movement. Although he started his rally with only a few men by his side, the General soon gained a following of wounded but determined and inspired Resistance fighters, Turo and Puck among the ranks.

In the thick of it all, Phylakios fought valiantly, surpassing the expectations of his troops and surprising the enemy as he strode bravely into their ranks, blood staining his brilliant white imperial uniform as he fought for every inch of the dark tunnels.

During a lull in the fighting, Turo approached their leader. "I've spoken with our telepaths. They believe the heart of the fighting is here," Turo tapped an unfolded a map of the tunnels for the General as they breathed hard, wiping the sweat and blood from their brows.

"Yes," Phylakios nodded, "the main chamber. If we can take it . . . ."

"It is the key to our victory," Puck finished his thought. "And it is just around this corridor." He gestured at the map.

"Let's go," Phylakios returned to the scraggly group still by his side, encouraging them all before leading the charge toward the main chamber controlled by the Drakh. The General rallied every man he could find, encouraging them with his voice, filling each man with pride for Centauri Prime, and making them aware of their supreme importance in the decisive battle for Centauri Prime.

"I think our men would follow him off a cliff," Puck remarked to his brother in the darkness as they saw the flash of white charge forward again. "Whether its bravery, patriotism, or pure folly, though, I'm not sure."

" _I'm_ not sure it matters. It seems to be getting the job done," Turo shook the dust from his hair, grabbing his brother as they joined their fellow forces in another charge.

But shortly afterward, in the midst of their charge, an explosion rocked the chamber, sealing off a portion of the area with falling rock. The smoke and dust filled the air, choking the remaining Centauri.

* * *

Vir entered approached Timov, his hands twisting around each other.

"How is Senna?" Timov asked breathlessly, clearing the conference room with a wave of her hand.

"She's fine - tired but fine," Vir said, gulping in relief. "Recovering, of course - its been a rough day."

"And the baby?" Timov asked, her face twisted with worry.

"Come with me," Vir jerked his head toward the hallway. Suddenly he looked back at the Empress, "I mean . . . please . . . Majesty . . . I didn't mean to _order_ you . . . ."

"Oh, enough of that, Vir," Timov dismissed his words, "it is just a title." Timov shooed Vir toward the hallway, her heels almost clipping his shoes with impatience.

Around a corner, Vir's face lit up as he glanced through the glass. "There she is," he nodded at a tiny bundle nestled under warm lights, her skin barely visible. "Meet your granddaughter - Corianna***," he smiled with pride. "The doctors said she'll have to stay here under close supervision for several months, but they think she'll be just fine."

Timov gasped. "Oh my," a worried smile spread over her face, "she's _so_ small."

"But fierce," Timov heard a familiar voice behind her. Senna had appeared, her hospital gown gathered around her. "Like her grandmother."

"Oh Senna," Timov immediately turned, throwing her arms around her daughter before releasing her again. "I'm sure you're not meant to be out of bed."

"Like Papa would say," Senna beamed, "I'm not an egg." She turned back to the infant on the other side of the glass, "Besides," she sighed, "Corianna was worth it. She was determined to bring us a little joy in the midst of our sorrows."

Timov peered at the small infant, looping her arm through Senna's. "Oh yes," she agreed, "that is something we all need."

* * *

Turo Marcanti awoke with a throbbing headache. He pulled himself up on his elbows, coughing hard from the dirt, smoke, and dust in the tunnel chamber. There was an eerie quiet around him, and he knew that he must have been knocked out for some time. His ears rang, but in the distance, he could still hear the battle raging. It seemed, he thought, that the sound of fighting was not as vigorous or as urgent as it had been before.

He sat up against the cold tunnel walls, rubbing the dirt from his eyes with his arm before he saw a sight that stopped him in his tracks. Pulling himself forward, he blinked, seeing the artificial leg of his brother nearby. "Puck?" he called out, but his brother did not respond. He reached forward, feeling his way up his brother's artificial leg, but it ended abruptly in twisted metal and melted plastic. Turo's jaw quivered as tears rolled down his cheek. "Puck?" he called again, the hopefulness fading into desperation. But there was no more of his brother to be found, and as he traced the remains of his brother's body, he saw another body laying nearby. He was almost unrecognizable were it not for the gleaming white of the his uniform, thought it was marred by black soot and blood.

Turo's breaths came faster and heavier as he took in the sight around them.

Everywhere else in the chamber was silence and death. Turo's head dropped as emotion roiled in his chest. With a heavy heart, he collected the coutaris belonging to Phylakios and his brother, and slowly, Turo limped back toward the entrance, the sounds of fighting diminishing with every step.

* * *

G'Tsak grimaced as he read the reports aboard his Narn cruiser. "If we attack the Centauri now–"

"–Attack?" his first officer, G'Tren, snorted in response. "The Empress herself _invited_ us to Centauri Prime to look after the Prophet's body, and the Alliance President has sent us an encoded message implying that they will fire upon us, directly, if we attack the Centauri under the present circumstances. At President Sheridan's request, the Kha'Ri has already agreed _not_ to act hastily in the matter.

G'Tsak clenched his teeth, "G'Kar is _dead_ , we might as well rain down our revenge upon his killers—"

"—No," G'Tren replied steadily. "Our troops have just finished clearing the royal palace with the Centauri, and they have completed a preliminary analysis of the body. Although the conditions are not ideal, the Centauri doctor was correct. G'Kar is in a state of hibernation, but he is _alive._ "

* * *

***Corianna was JMS' chosen name for Senna. Peter David requested a name change (apparently to comport with a short story, and the Emperor's ward became Senna, rather than Corianna).


	44. The Night Watch

Senna found the Empress in the same position she had left 15 minutes before: staring onto an object that had been placed before her, her lips pursed with displeasure, her features stoic.

"I brought you some hot jala," Senna placed the cup before the Empress, but still Timov did not stir.

Senna waited, knowing her mother could not stay etched in stone forever.

"It is perhaps my biggest regret," Timov said, finally. "For once, Londo was right."

"He would probably give all the brivari in the Capitol to hear you say that," a thin smile crept over Senna's face.

Timov glanced at her daughter, disapprovingly. "Let's not get carried away." She shook her head, "Although he might have had the fact that I ever admitted he was right carved over the palace gates in stone." Timov's gaze returned to the coutari in front of her once again. "In any event, I should never have allowed my Uncle's request get in the way of what I _knew_ was right, and now look what has happened."

"Phylakios died a free man," Senna said softly. "Without him, the Resistance forces would have fallen, and the Drakh would have escaped the tunnels."

"I ordered him not to take prisoners," Timov frowned.

"You were angry after everything that had happened," Senna told her mother, "The fact that Phylakios ordered his troops to take surrendering and wounded Drakh as prisoners goes to show that perhaps he knew your mind before you did."

"He died freeing the very county that put him in bondage for the majority of his life," Timov said curtly. "The same country that put his grandparents and great grandparents in bondage, one that sold his entire family into slavery because of a debt. And I allowed it to continue – out of what? Fidelity to my family? The gods know they hardly deserve it."

"Then for Phylakios's sake, _do_ something about it," Senna encouraged her.

Timov considered this for a moment before she shook her head. "What can I do? Erect a monument and etch his name around the base? It hardly seems to be enough, considering everything he did for his country – and for us, personally."

"Then do something magnificent . . . something Phylakios would be proud of," Senna encouraged her mother.

"Practically speaking,the Centaurum will overrule me if I abolish slavery," Timov said matter-of-factly. "It would spark an internal rebellion between the classes and probably several trade wars. The ministers tell me that the Centaurum wouldn't allow it – they'll say our country simply isn't ready for it yet," Timov sighed. "Our ways, our traditions, they are very old – sometimes I think the noble houses don't believe anything _can_ be done another way."

"But they aren't the Emperor's Regent – _you_ are." Senna gathered the folds of her dress, making ready to leave. "I'm afraid I've got to check on Corianna." She made her way toward the door before she turned abruptly. "There is always the war tax," Senna offered thoughtfully. "The noble houses must all make their contributions."

Timov glanced backwards at her daughter. "Yes," she said slowly. "They have always had to shoulder the burden of our military exploits and our defense." A look of satisfaction spreading over her features, "That should do quite well, I think."

* * *

"To honor the Slave General, she did what?" President Toscaneli fumed. The members of the Centaurum shuffled around the Centaurum president, their sentiments ominous. Their hot outbursts amongst themselves indicated that they would strongly protest the Regent's command that, in recognition of Phylakios' central role in freeing the Centauri from the Drakh, each House's financial contribution to the liberation of their country would be paid in the price of the slaves their houses held.

"How can she do this?" one lord loudly complained. "We should vote to overturn this ridiculous usurpation of power."

"She didn't abolish slavery," another lord replied, "she merely provided that the war tax charged to each royal house would be the equivalent of the ducats left on House's slave contracts."

"—And a percentage of all the ones not owned by noble houses!" the first replied. "The result is that that the slaves in the Republic will be freed – not by the letter of the law but by ransom."

"That is a short term problem," the second lord continued. "The greater challenge for the Houses is that she is prohibiting usury. Slave debts can no longer be passed to subsequent generations, and interest rates may only be set by the royal bank."

A third lord snorted, "Politically, can we really vote against _that_? She has us over a barrel. The populace won't stand for it if we do not pay the war tax – and the _form_ of the war tax is enjoying a _great_ deal of support among the lower classes. The question of banning usury was simply a matter of time, given the outrageous interest that was being charged on slave contracts."

The other lords grumbled, knowing that the policies the Regent had set were reasonable. Ultimately, despite the private protests of the noble lords, a note was delivered to Regent Timov, proclaiming that the Centaurum had accepted the requirements of the war tax, and the Centaurum would not oppose the usury ban.

* * *

"What is G'Kar's condition?" Ambassador Ta'Lon asked.

G'Tsak grimaced in reaction to the Narn appearing on the screen in front of him, "He is alive – but _barely_. The Regent invited us down to the surface under the _guise_ of helping him, but she surely knows that we cannot move him without destabilizing his condition. And then, it will look like his death is _our_ fault. Besides, she has not removed the death sentence for aliens on Centauri Prime, and—"

Ta'Lon shook his head and pulled a piece of paper from his desk, waving it in front of the screen. "She rescinded Emperor Mollari's order concerning aliens a few hours ago, and it provides amnesty for anyone who was deemed to have broken it in the past. It had to go through the Centaurum's review before becoming official. You must remember, G'Tsak, how formal Centauri politics are. We must exercise courtesy, especially considering the Prophet's condition."

"Then we will do nothing to avenge him?" G'Tsak's voice rose.

Ta'Lon sighed, "When he awakens, you may _ask_ _him_ if such vengeance is warranted."

 _"If_ he awakens. And _of course_ it is warranted," G'Tsak replied angerly. "Just look at the state he is in. Mollari tried to _kill_ him."

Ta'Lon listened patiently. "Whatever your opinion of the Centauri, Emperor Mollari was no fool. He was an ambassador to Babylon 5, and he dealt with Narn for many years. Do you think, G'Tsak, that he was unaware that Narn can breathe through the gills at the base of their neck as well as their mouths?"***

G'Tsak's mouth snapped shut.

Ta'Lon continued, "There were many ways he could have killed G'Kar, he but choose the one action least likely to do it. So either he was not trying to kill G'Kar or his nervous system was under the control of the Drakh parasite, as the palace has claimed and as the Alliance leaders have confirmed."

"That's hardly evidence," G'Tsak growled. "Everyone knows Mollari has been acting irrationally for years."

Ta'Lon sighed, knowing he would be unable to convince G'Tsak of anything. "Perhaps, then, we should trust His Holiness's judgment in the matter. After all, he came to Centauri Prime of his own free will."

G'Tsak snorted. "G'Kar's judgment? Not all religious prophets are claimed to be entirely lucid at all times – as you say – he _chose_ to come here. But I'll point out that once he arrived, he was held _against his_ will, and now he lies on the edge of death, and you want to simply trust what the Centauri are saying?" G'Tsak spit the last few words out of his mouth. "Or maybe you have forgotten that trusting the Centauri has always come at a great price for our people," G'Tsak snarled.

Ta'Lon sighed, "Perhaps, but the Regent's invitation to come down to Centauri Prime and look after the Prophet is more than we would have received in the past. And the Kha'Ri has decided not to turn their backs on such an olive branch. Besides, according to the reports from your crew's doctors, the quick actions of the Centauri cooling G'Kar's body have minimized any chance of brain damage, and there is yet a chance that he will recover."

"Kha-Ri!" G'Tsak snorted. "They are becoming a lump of sniveling _schrock_ in response to President Sheridan's order to Alliance members not to attack the Centauri."

"Any other action else might place the Prophet's life in danger," Ta'Lon responded quietly. "Would you like to be responsible for his death?"

G'Tsak clenched his teeth angrily, and he flipped off the monitor in anger.

* * *

Vir hurried into the room in the Great House where the Regent had been meeting with her ministers and military advisors. The room was filled with courtiers, but to his surprise, they parted at the sight of him, allowing him to walk to her side.

Mentally, he noted the paleness of her appearance, and he wondered at the weight of all that she had been through.

In the weeks that had passed since the assault on the Drakh, the Regent had been refreshingly open with the country about the extent of the Drakh's influence and infestation on the Centauri home world. Her candor and her association with the Resistance united the low classes behind her rule, but the usury ban and war tax had created loud protests by many of the noble houses, and the Centaurum pressured her to appoint more noble advisors to represent their interests.

In the meantime, the Resistance forces and telepaths had systematically been searching the planet surface for any remaining Drakh and checking every Centauri for marks of Drakh keepers or influence. Centauri Defense Ministry forces were holding the captured Drakh in reinforced cells as they awaited trial, and, in a turn of karma, the remaining Centauri telepaths were among the guards ensuring that the Drakh did not escape.

Still, the country faced challenges on all sides – the Alliance was pressuring the Regent for greater transparency and access for neutral observers, tensions between the classes were strained as the lower classes fought for more political recognition than the noble classes were willing to recognize, and the nobility, sensing that the Emperor would die soon, had already begun scheming, each house trying to position its members to succeed the ailing Emperor Mollari.

Knowing that she would be removed from her position as Regent if Londo died and understanding that if the noble houses grew increasingly dissatisfied with her decisions, Londo would be targeted for execution in his hospital bed, Timov had him moved from the hospital back to his private quarters at the Great House.

Now, the great House was filled with people once again, the unused wings Timov had once sealed off for lack of staff reopened – one wing to accommodate the security and medical staff needed to attend to Londo's convalescence, another wing opened to accommodate government officials on Timov's staff as she attended to the daily affairs of the nation, and a third wing for the family's personal use.

Vir bowed his head as he approached Timov. "You wished to see me, Madam Regent?"

"Yes, Vir, I did." She motioned to him to sit down, and Vir slid into a seat opposite her as a courtier abandoned it for him.

"The Centaurum are pressuring me to fill the vacant Cabinet positions," Timov said wearily.

"It would be wise to ensure you have a full slate of advisors," Vir replied. "I have a list of potential candidates—" he searched his pockets, panicking as he remembered leaving the list elsewhere.

"—No, Vir, I've made my selection," Timov passed him a short list of nominations. "Have them drawn up for me."

"Of course," Vir glanced at the paper quickly. "But, Madam Regent," he looked up, "you will still need a Prime Minister."

"Yes, I am aware of it," Timov frowned. "That is why I have called _you_ here."

Vir nodded slowly before realization dawned on him and the crowd around them hushed. "Wait – what? What do you mean?"

"I will be putting in your name as my Prime Minister to the Centaurum for their approval," Timov said, matter-of-factly.

"Me?" Vir's eyes widened, "But I—I. . . . There are so many other qualified candidates, and—"

"But few that I trust," Timov told him. "And fewer still that Londo trusted. Besides, it is natural – you were Londo's closest aide – who better than to lead his government in his absence."

"I—I just—"

"Stop stammering, Vir. You are about to become the Prime Minister of Centauri Prime. And Prime Ministers should at least give the appearance of knowing how to end their sentences."

Vir snapped shut his jaw shut.

"Good," Timov smiled faintly as she pulled out his appointment to add to the other ministers. "And give my love to Senna and Corianna. I'll be along to see them as soon as I can."

Vir stood back up and turned toward the door, glancing over his shoulder at the Regent, who had already returned to the business in front of her as a line of courtiers filled the narrow pathway that had parted to allow him to leave.

* * *

At the end of another long day at the helm of the Centauri Republic, the Regent put her manicured fingers to her eyelids, rubbing away the tiredness. She had returned to the quiet of the Great House's private wing, and the quietness gave her some solace.

Each day she had been in charge of the country had taken its toll, and her body felt like a weight crushing her, dogging her every movement with pain. But each morning, she arose with resolve, pushing the pain of her illness into the corners of her mind, the unspoken cost of her duty to the Republic.

Every night, as she returned to the private wing and made ready to retire for the evening, she could no longer hide the effects of her illness, and her hands shook unsteadily, her eyes dulled with pain, and her steps shortened as her muscles contracted in protest of the daily strain.

The palace staff and her family were the only individuals privy to the actual state of her condition, although rumors abounded, and the country had known for some time since Londo's announcement years before that she was suffering from a serious condition. But while Timov resolved to hide the symptoms of her condition during the day, her resolve collapsed as night fell. The staff, knowing that she was now the official face of the Centauri jealously guarded her privacy, keeping the day-to-day seriousness of her condition from the public, the ministers, the Centaurum, and even the palace courtiers.

As weariness washed over Timov and night fell, she found herself at Londo's side, fulfilling her former promise to him to be at his bedside when he was ailing. "I see you aren't getting up," she said wryly under her breath as she turned the lights down into a somber hue. "To be honest," she told his inert figure, "I think you've taken the secret of our marriage a little too far." Nothing but silence and the methodic sound of the life support system answered her retort.

Since the surgeries at the hospital, Londo's windpipe had finally repaired itself, and the doctors had closed the temporary tracheotomy, allowing him to breath from his mouth again, though it was covered by the breathing apparatus attached to the life support machine. When she had noticed a deep scar covering his throat, Timov had ordered the doctors to remove it. But hearing her command to the doctors, Vir had protested, retelling Londo's comments about scars to the little girl in the hospital wing after his heart surgery, but Timov had responded, chagrined, "Oh please, Vir, Londo would never leave visible scars untended, regardless of what he said. I don't dispute he would tell such a story, but Londo does not care for the truth when it gets in the way of a good story or his own vanity." And, pulling back his hospital sheet, Vir had looked astonished when, indeed, no scar appeared over Londo's hearts from his replacement surgery.

Timov eventually opened her eyes, pushing the thoughts of the past away, her mind returning to the present. "You know," she told Londo quietly, "the doctors don't quite know what to do with you. They keep giving me ominous estimates of how long you have to live, and you don't seem to care. You are as uncooperative as ever. Frankly, it would not surprise me – not one bit – if you chose to remain here, intractable, for some time, just to have your revenge on the doctors and on your political rivals, perhaps even on me. Although," she smiled at last, "you would be content that you are going to irritate the Centaurum to no end. And that," she said satisfactorily, "will please me as well."

Timov ended the evening as she did every night. Slowly, methodically, as she sank into the oversized chair next to Londo's bedside that dwarfed her tiny frame, she recounted the news of the day, partially to seal the details of the day into her own memory and, perhaps, to tell Londo of all that had happened in his absence. When she finished, she allowed the darkness and the rhythmic sound of life support machine to lull her into sleep.

A few hours of fitful slumber passed before she would be awakened by the first rays of dawn, resuming her hefty daily schedule again. But Timov also recognized her increasing limitations, the constraints of her illness robbing her of her strength. Without urging, Timov delegated her entire travel schedule outside of the Capitol City to Senna and Vir as her official representatives. This arrangement ensured that she could continue with her daily duties, and it also ensured that not one night passed without her appearing dutifully at Londo's side.

* * *

It took more than three months, but, at last, G'Kar finally opened his eyes.

"Holiness," Ambassador Ta'Lon entered the Prophet's room, having traveled from Babylon 5 upon the notification that G'Kar would likely awaken, "it is a miracle to have you back among us."

G'Kar stared at the Narn before his eyes travelled over the rest of the room where he had spent his invalidity. The first thing that struck him was the absurdly garish decorations, almost buried under Narn trinkets and well-wishes. "Your talent for decorating has gotten much worse, Ta'Lon."

Ta'Lon laughed, "I'm afraid I cannot take credit for the state of your surroundings - you are still on Centauri Prime." Ta'Lon leaned over, picking up a few of the messages clogging the room, "And your popularity back home has soared to new heights after all that you have overcome."

G'Kar glanced at the trinkets warily, "Oh joy." Slowly, he raised himself upon an elbow. "I hope you have at least brought some Narn delicacies with you. Eating Centauri cooking for a year has been a poor substitute excuse for food."

Ta'Lon waved in a few Narn who brought G'Kar a steaming plate of food. "They said you would be ravenous after your hibernation," Ta'Lon said as he saw G'Kar satisfyingly popping a _tchikta_ in his mouth.

G'Kar stopped abruptly, his food forgotten as his face fell. "What has happened ? Mollari…?"

Ta'Lon sighed as he crossed his arms. "The Drakh attack on the Alliance was stopped before it began, and the Drakh on Centauri Prime were eventually routed by Centauri resistance forces, but at great cost."

G'Kar listened solemnly to the news, replacing the _tchikta_ back on its plate, leaving it untouched.

Ta'Lon continued, "The Emperor remains on life support—"

At this, G'Kar's eyes widened until he heard the next words from Ta'Lon.

"—but there is no hope for his recovery, and Empress Timov permanently rules in his place as regent."

"—The Empress lives?" G'Kar said, astonished, rising further on his elbow as he pushed the _tchikta_ away.

"G'Kar, please," Ta'Lon gestured him to lay back down. "Yes, she is alive. Was there any question? According to the palace, she disappeared for some time because of her illness but that was all—"

G'Kar sighed, "That is but half the story, and it seems I know even less than I thought. What else has happened?"

Ta'Lon continued, "The Emperor was not the only one who fell — most of the Centauri resistance forces were killed in underground battles, including General Phylakios. It is said that all was lost until the General personally rallied the troops, leading them into the tunnels below Centauri Prime. Without his encouragement, the Centauri would have failed to retake the tunnels."

G'Kar closed his eyes at the news.

"It is a strange thing that has happened after the General's death." the ambassador continued, "The Centauri chant his name openly on the streets. Some are even demanding that the Centaurum make him a god. The Regent has already declared him a hero of the Republic, and there is already a statue of him in the Capital City – the first royal statue dedicated to a slave in hundreds of years…."

"He was an honorable man," G'Kar said quietly. "A man the Centauri could have used to face the challenges of the upcoming years."

"I think," Ambassador Ta'Lon bowed his head, "it is possible his sacrifice will lead, in time, to a very different state of affairs on Centauri Prime, and perhaps his death will do more than any living man ever could."

G'Kar's smiled wistfully, "It is true that memory can be more powerful than flesh. It was Phylakios'd greatest hope that his people would be freed, and if he cannot be among the living, then he would be proud that his death meant this much to so many." G'Kar paused thoughtfully, "And what of Vir Cotto?"

"The Empress named Cotto to the position of Prime Minister. Our intelligence sources claim he protested the appointment."

G'Kar chuckled. "She is formidable when she sets her mind to something – Cotto had little chance against her, I'm afraid."

Ta'Lon nodded, "The Alliance is pleased with the changes the Regent has been instituting - she is slowly turning around the policies of the past few decades. She has lifted the ban on foreigners and is slowing mending relations with the Alliance." Ta'Lon noticed the tiredness in G'Kar's eyes. "But it is time for you to rest, and I can catch you up on the rest of the news as soon as we depart."

"Depart?" G'Kar's crimson eyes widened. "For where?"

"The Kha'Ri had commanded that you be brought home as soon as it is safe to travel," Ta'Lon informed him.

"The Kha'Ri is exercising a great deal of power," G'Kar frowned, "ordering mere citizens to return home without asking their wishes."

"You are no mere citizen," Ta'Lon chuckled.

"There is something I would like to do before I leave," G'Kar told him.

"Of course," Ta'Lon replied. "In the meantime, we will make the arrangements for your return voyage."

G'Kar wanted to protest, but the need for sleep weighed on his eyelids, and they slowly drifted closed.

Sensing that G'Kar needed his rest, Ta'Lon brought his fists to his chest in a salute before retreating to the outer door, a wave of relief descending upon him now that his friend and mentor had survived the reanimation process.

* * *

A few days later, G'Kar shrugged off the Narn attendants hoovering over him, and he gestured at them to remain outside as he rose under his own power, tenuously walking through the door in front of him.

"G'Kar," Timov was taken by surprise at the figure who had entered, "Emanio hadn't told you me had arrived yet, or I would have sent the guards to assist you." She took his unsteady hand, throwing her other arm around him as she helped him into a plush chair in Londo's chambers.

As he touched her hand, G'Kar noticed the coolness that ran over her skin, and he immediately observed her grimace as she helped him ease into the chair. "The Kha-Ri has ordered me to return to Narn, but I wanted to—" his eyes abruptly fell to the carpet.

"Of course — Londo would be thrilled that you came," Timov reassured him. ""I know that if he could, he would want to thank you for everything you did for him, for our people."

"One day I would like you to tell me how you survived the death sentence Mollari gave you," G'Kar said.

"One day, I'll tell you," Timov replied aloofly, a faint smile flickering over her features.

She crossed the room, retrieving a gilded vase overflowing with a healthy broad leafed plant. "When you came to the palace, Londo ordered the royal gardener to procure this. He has been looking after it since then. The gardener tells me that Londo forbade anyone from taking cuttings or collecting its seeds. I suspect he thought you might have need of it for your religious observances. He might have forgotten when—"

"—No," G'Kar stared at the G'Quan Eth plant in Timov's hands before he slowly accepted the gift. "The Holy Days of G'Quan had not yet come to pass when . . . ." his voice drifted off before he looked up, ". . . when he fell. Thank you."

"No," Timov took his hands, "thank you, G'Kar. Without you, his final days would have been even more solitary, and I think without you, the Drakh attack never could have been stopped."

"I wish that I could have done more," G'Kar said solemnly, his eyes on the unmoving figure.

"There is nothing to regret - you saved many lives, not just here but throughout Alliance space." Timov squeezed his arm knowingly, "I wish you health, peace, and good tidings on your return to Narn," Timov said, before she quietly took her leave, allowing G'Kar a few minutes with Londo.

Alone, G'Kar turned to address Londo. "You don't have to say it. I have failed the simple task of killing a Centauri. What sort of a Narn am I?" G'Kar shook his head before his voice fell, "Perhaps I am a better one now that when we first met. Goodbye, my friend," he said, his eyes lingering wistfully for a moment before he slowly brought his fists to his chest, picked up the G'Quan Eth, and turned for the door.

* * *

Senna gripped Vir's hand tightly, and she turned to him just before they entered the Empress's private chambers. "I don't think we will get very far – but if she admits that she isn't feeling well these days, perhaps over time we can convince her delegate more of her duties to her ministers."

"If she even admits that she isn't feeling well, it will be a miracle," Vir replied before following his wife through the door and into the antechamber outside Timov's private quarters.

"Your Highness, Your Excellency," Emanio greeted the pair. "Her Majesty is resting. Would you like me to inform her that you are here?"

"Yes, Emanio. Thank you," Senna said.

"Highness?" Emanio paused before he reached the door, slowly turning to face the pair again.

"Yes, Emanio, what is it?" Senna asked.

"We – the household – well, we are worried about the Empress. It has been very hard on her – these past few months, and she barely sleeps, barely eats. I don't even know how she finds the strength to rise in the morning."

Senna released Vir's hand, grasping Emanio's with emotion. "Yes, I know. The Royal Physician – he won't say it outright, but he is worried about her health as well. It is why we are here."

Emanio glanced from Senna to Vir and back again. "If there is anything we can do—anything _I_ can do- "

"You're already doing it," Vir reassured him before glancing back to Senna.

Emanio nodded and disappeared through the door, and Vir and Senna waited in silence.

Timov emerged a few minutes later, her crisp appearance hardly hinting at the seriousness of her own situation.

After a short greeting, Senna and Vir sat down next to her.

Seeing their faces, Timov narrowed her eyes. "This looks serious."

"It is," Senna confessed, knowing her mother would wish her to come to the point quickly. "We are worried about you."

"Me?" Timov leaned backwards, her eyebrows rising in surprise. "There are many things to worry about these days, but I'm not one of them."

"You can't continue this way," Senna said quietly. "You are running yourself ragged."

"I have already transferred all of my travel duties to you and Vir. What more can I do?" Timov replied.

"Yes, you have – but it isn't _enough_ ," Senna said gently. "Your illness is taking its toll, and your duties have you running from dawn until dusk, and _then_ , you are by Papa's side until dawn. It is more than someone in excellent health could stand for more than a few days – and this has been going on for months now. The staff doesn't know the last time you slept in your own bed. Everyone is worried," Senna replied.

Timov glanced at Vir. "Are you here on behalf of the Cabinet?"

Vir shook his head, "No, this isn't about politics. The Cabinet has no idea how much you have been put through these past few months."

"If my job performance isn't suffering," Timov said curtly, "then this conversation is at an end."

"Please," Senna pleaded, "I've just lost Papa. I don't wish to lose you as well. Neither does Vir – or Corianna. We _need_ you."

Timov crossed her arms, a look of serious thought on her face. Senna could tell that Timov recognized the impossibility of continuing the status quo, but she had no good options at her fingertips.

"What, exactly, are you suggesting?"

Senna glanced at Vir again, and he encouraged her with a nod.

"You remember when the Centaurum President said that you should formally declare Papa dead – it is time to give such an action some thought."

"We must all do our duty," Timov replied. "I will do mine as long as I am able."

Senna shook her head. "This state of affairs cannot last. You must admit that to yourself."

Timov pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. "You wish me to take Londo off of life support?"

"No," Senna shook her head vigorously, horror in her eyes. "Of course not. But if you make the formal declaration that Papa is dead, it will be legally binding, and that will invoke the laws of succession. It would allow you some respite from the responsibility that has been thrust upon your shoulders. And you know that it is a matter of time before one of the noble houses conspires to poison Papa, trying to force the issue of who will succeed him."

Timov did not respond, and silence filled the room.

Senna knew her mother was stubborn, but she felt hope at the length of time Timov considered her words.

Timov said quietly, "There would be chaos. The noble houses already are in conflict over who will succeed Londo. I cannot watch our country crumble in its time of need. Besides, how could I live with myself if a despot seizes power?"

Vir interjected, "What if it was someone you trusted?"

Timov frowned, "There's hardly anyone I would trust to take the throne."

Senna pondered this for a moment before she responded quietly, "What about me? What if you declared me as Papa's heir?"

"You?" Timov gasped. "But women cannot inherit the throne—"

"—Not _yet_ ," Senna replied, her eyes dancing.

Timov stared at her daughter in silence before responding, "Londo would never have wanted the burden of the Crown laid upon your head. It is difficult and dangerous, and your life will no longer be your own."

Senna grasped Timov's hands tightly, "I _know_ what it entails. But I am worried about you, the veiled threats some of the houses have made against Papa's life, and the future of our country. And I _want_ to help. I understand what the mantle of Emperor entails – I saw what it did to Papa, what it took from him, what it cost him in the end. But you and Papa raised me to know that duty to country is _our_ responsibility – not someone else's - and I am willing to make whatever sacrifice I must to ensure our country is able to rebuild."

She grasped her mother's hands even tighter, "And it is equally as important to me that Corianna grows up to know the remarkable woman that is her grandmother. If you think I am not capable or that there is a better candidate, then I will gladly accept that decision. But, _please_ , you cannot continue to run your remaining health into the ground. I do not wish to lose you. And Papa would have never allowed you to continue in such a position if he knew the toll it would take on you."

Timov considered her daughter's words, "The political reality remains. The Centaurum will _never_ allow a woman to become Emperor. Not since the treachery of Empress Sandolina—"

"—Senna's position is stronger than you might think," Vir replied. "First of all, a woman is already exercising the power of the Emperor - and any protests against your rule have crumbled over time. And Like you, she shares the support of the Resistance and the telepaths because of her work in support of the Resistance effort. She remains popular with the people – and they will pressure many of the noble houses to accept her rule."

"And you are all right with this Vir?" Timov asked him. "That your wife becomes the symbol and power of the Centauri Republic?"

Vir smiled as he glanced at Senna, "Of course, I couldn't be prouder of her. And it would be wonderful to see the rest of the country recognize the greatness I already see in her"

"—Besides," Senna laughed as Vir blushed, "I would have to keep him on as my Prime Minister – continuity of government and all."

Timov thought on this in silence, and although Vir and Senna had approached her with the lowest of expectations, she surprised both of them with her acknowledgment of her condition.

"I agree that our country should not be run by someone who cannot devote the energy and attention necessary to ruling it, and realistically, I am no longer sure that I can be that person. Our country needs leadership, or we will fall back into the black hole from which we have just emerged . . . . If you truly wish to assume the responsibility of the throne, Senna, I will support you."

Senna beamed, but Timov added, "But finding the support we will need in the Centaurum will not be easy. How many votes, realistically, can we rely upon in the Centaurum, Vir?"

"Not enough," Vir admitted. "A good number, but not enough for a majority."

"No," Timov tapped a nail against her chin. "It will not be easy, but perhaps I can persuade them with other means."

* * *

When G'Kar had sufficiently recovered and made his obligatory rounds on Narn, he travelled to Minbar to visit President Sheridan and Delenn.

David was still in an induced coma, a security measure to ensure that the Drakh could not use the keeper to kill him in retaliation for all that had happened.

Upon his arrival, Sheridan and Delenn greeted G'Kar warmly, but he immediately sensed how much strain their son's situation had placed on them. By their side, Dr. Franklin also thrust a welcoming hand toward G'Kar. He had joined the Sheridans on Minbar at their request, running tests in conjunction with the local Minbari scientists to try to remove David's keeper, but nothing had proven useful yet.

After his warm reception and familiarizing himself with the situation on Minbar, G'Kar found seated next to Dr. Franklin, reminiscing about their exploits on Seti IV and what they had seen there.

"The sample we took from Seti IV has come in handy in trying to figure out how to treat David," Dr. Franklin informed him. "But so far, we haven't figured out how that translates to removing the parasite without killing the host."

"If a keeper is a parasite grown from a parent host," G'Kar mused, "perhaps the telepathic bond isn't directly between the keeper and the Drakh Collective."

Dr. Franklin looked puzzled for a moment, "You're right," he said, mulling over the problem, "it is possible that the parent that grew the keeper acts as a telepathic conduit for the keeper to the collective, rather than a direct link."

"If the parent is the key to the telepathic link, then the parent – alone - controls the orders to the parasite," G'Kar replied.

Dr. Franklin nodded quickly. "Then the key to the parasite isn't the Drakh - it is the _parent_." Dr. Franklin snapped, "You said the Centauri are holding the Drakh captives in holding cells on Centauri Prime – if the keeper's parent is still among them and the parent can be persuaded, then perhaps the keeper can be freed from David," Dr. Franklin said.

"But how will you identify the parent?" G'Kar asked.

"That," Dr. Franklin rose, resolve coloring his steps, "is easy. We simply extract DNA from the keeper buried in David's shoulder. Do you think if we send it to Centauri Prime that we can get them to run matches against Drakh prisoners?"

G'Kar rose from his chair as well. "Oh yes, I happen to know a very good contact within the Centauri government."

"Rather high up, is she?" Dr. Franklin grinned.

"You might say, the very top," G'Kar replied casually.

* * *

Within a few weeks, the DNA samples had been matched to a Drakh in custody in the Capitol City. The Drakh responsible for David's keeper had remained hidden, nameless among those had been captured and imprisoned by Centauri forces. But when the Alliance requested the Centauri Republic's help in identifying the parent of David's keeper, the Drakh responsible had been pulled from his cell, identified by his own DNA, and brought to the Empress care of the Defense Ministry and the Ministry of Justice.

Declared guilty of war crimes, he was brought to the Regent for sentencing.

"Release David Sheridan from his keeper before I pronounce your sentence," she said, her blue eyes cold and unyielding, "and I may yet exercise mercy."

The Drakh's craggy features didn't move, but a low growl emanated from his throat. "Never," he replied, and the Empress did not hesitate, promptly pronouncing a sentence of death for his role in the Drakh occupation. She instructed the royal guards execute him and to place his head upon a pike outside the royal palace in the Capitol City as a warning to other aliens that would try to capture their world, and there it hung, before the day was out, the same pike that had once held the head of Mr. Morden years before.

As the royal guards left with the condemned prisoner, Timov turned to her aides. "I want you to match type the DNA of Londo's keeper and try to match it against the Drakh prisoners. It will lead you to Shiv'kala, and if you find him among the prisoners, I want to know immediately. If you don't find him, search the Drakh bodies killed. I want to know his whereabouts - alive or dead."

* * *

When the Drakh's head fell from his body, Dr. Franklin's theory was proven true, and David's keeper, though in stasis, died without its neural link to the Drakh Entire, its tendrils limply detaching themselves from David's nervous system. The keeper had done relatively little physical damage to David's body in the short time they had been joined, though David would undoubtedly always carry the psychological damage of the Drakh's incursion in his body for the rest of his life. But, happily, David had defied the odds, and he was finally revived and reunited with his parents.

As the Sheridans celebrated their son's safety, Sheridan and Dr. Franklin's discussion turned to the Centauri and, specifically, the Regent herself.

"Without Timov's cooperation, David would still be in that coma," Sheridan mused. "I owe her a debt of gratitude. It is too bad that G'Kar's impression - when he met with her - was that her condition has gotten quite serious."

"Lake's Syndrome is a progression - but it is rarely a steady one. Patients can feel better for periods of time. Its hard to tell when the cycle occurs - and we just don't have much information on it occurring in Centauri."

Sheridan shook his head as he sipped his drink. "It is too bad – the Centauri could use her level head in the years to come, and everyone is worried about the stability of the Centauri Empire when Londo dies."

Abruptly, Dr. Franklin turned to Sheridan. "Maybe we can help her . . . ."

Sheridan caught Franklin's eye, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"If what you're thinking requires high level security clearances, a few requisition forms, and sorting through a few dusty storage bins, then . . . yeah," Franklin nodded his head with a grin.

"It'll take some time to arrange," Sheridan said. "But I'm game."

* * *

A royal courier bowed to the Centaurum President as he bore a communication signed under the Regent's royal seal.

Opening it, President Toscaneli, the Younger, quickly read its contents, his face reddening. "She can't do this," he threw the page across his desk, "it will make a mockery of our customs."

A lord member of the Centaurum relaxing in his office leaned forward in his chair, "What has the Regent done this time?"

"She intends upon changing the law to allow women of legal age the capability to inherit the throne," Toscaneli growled.

"She'll never get the votes," the other noble waved his hand. "The Centaurum will easily overrule such an order. Schedule the vote – we'll make the rejection official before the day is out," the other noble said smugly.

Uncomfortably, the royal courier cleared his throat, and at the cross look by the Centaurum President, the courier unfurled the order again, pointing to its embellished wording.

The President's face paled, and he slumped backwards in his seat.

"Well, what is it?" the other noble rose, looking over the President's shoulder.

"The wartime power we granted Mollari – he never used it – never _had_ to use it to get the Centaurum to agree with his policies. Since it has not been rescinded, the Regent is invoking it. Any order she gives under that privilege requires a supermajority of the Centaurum to overrule her actions."

"Surely not," the other noble fumed.

Toscaneli quickly shuffled through papers burying his desk before pulling out the wartime power authorization passed by the Centaurum so many years before, and his face lost the last of its color. "It has not been rescinded by the Centaurum, nor was it restricted in its scope," he said, realizing the gravity of the power within the Regent's grasp.

The other noble glanced at him, "That puts the throne within the grasp of Princess Senna upon Mollari's death—"

"—Over my dead body," Toscaneli growled. "A woman will _never_ be Emperor while I am President of the Centaurum, especially _that_ woman. Not after all the dishonor she has caused me and my family."

But, when the final votes were tallied, there were not enough Centaurum votes to overrule the Regent's command. When she next saw the Centaurum President, all the Regent said as she passed by was, "You shouldn't allow loopholes if you don't expect anyone to use them."0

Shortly thereafter, the Regent amended Emperor Mollari's will, formally naming Senna as Emperor Mollari II's heir.

In short order, the Regent officially announced that because of Londo's permanent incapacitation, a declaration formally recognizing Emperor Mollari II's death would be proclaimed before the stroke of midnight on the last day of the year, and the new Emperor – nay Empress – the first woman to rightfully inherit the throne but the third woman to actually exercise the power of the Emperor - would be crowned before the eyes of the Republic on New Year's Day.

[Placed in sequence, chapter 1 occurs after the end of this chapter and before the next chapter]

* * *

***The existence of G'Kar's gills were established in "The Gathering".


	45. Justice

Vir's eyes lit up as he saw President Sheridan and Dr. Franklin descend from their transport to Centauri Prime.

"It has been a long time, Vir – I mean, _Prime Minister_ ," Sheridan smiled.

Vir warmly pumped both of their hands as he escorted them toward a waiting imperial carriage. "I'm just glad you got a chance to come back under better circumstances than the last time, Mr. President," Vir told Sheridan. "And Dr. Franklin, it is so good to see you again," he added.

Franklin grinned, shuffling a large bag he was carrying on his back. "It is great to see you, too, Vir," Stephen replied.

"Please, this way," Vir beckoned them toward the door of the waiting imperial carriage.

On the way, Franklin noticed that Vir was nervously rubbing his hands, but otherwise, his demeanor was warm and welcoming.

Before long, the trio found themselves at the ceremonial entryway of the Great House of House Mollari.

"Vir," Dr. Franklin leaned in toward the Prime Minister, "you seem a little nervous . . . ."

Vir smiled weakly. "It isn't your visit, Dr. Franklin —it is that—" But as soon as he had started to give his answer, he stopped abruptly as he saw Timov's chief of staff Illyia approaching.

"Mr. President Sheridan, Dr. Franklin!" Illyia greeted them at the Great House's entrance. "It is my profound pleasure to welcome you to Centauri Prime." She beckoned the two men inside before launching into a verbal history tour of the estate.

"Thank you," Sheridan flashed a grin, glancing sideways around the elaborate mansion.

After an hour of introductory pleasantries by Illyia, Dr. Franklin leaned in to Sheridan, "G'Kar mentioned there might be formalities, but this is getting ridiculous. I get the distinct feeling that she is stalling for time."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Sheridan finally cut into Illyia's remarks, "but will the Empress be available to see us today?"

"Oh no," Illyia said, "Her Majesty is at the palace."

Sheridan and Franklin glanced at each other, "Empress Timov is at the palace?"

" _Lady_ Timov is upstairs," Vir cut in, seeing the confusion on the faces of his guests. "Her Ladyship no longer carries the title of Empress – it expired upon the official announcement of the death of Emperor Mollari."

Sheridan blinked in surprise. "I'm going to need a book of Centauri decorum," he said, half-jokingly.

Vir spread his hands with a sheepish grin, "The official guide to Centauri decorum is 12 volumes, but I can have a set delivered to you if you would like."

Dr. Franklin stifled a chuckle. "Will we have time to read all 12 before Lady Timov is available to see us?"

Vir bit his lip, "Erm," he fumbled, finally nodding to Illyia to retrieve her mistress. "She should be here shortly."

A short time later, Timov emerged from one of the wings of the Great House, surprise evident in her eyes. "President Sheridan? What an unexpected surprise."

President Sheridan glanced at Vir, "Lady Timov," he said cautiously turning his attention back to her. "Were you not made aware of our visit? We arranged it through the palace . . . ."

"You did?" Timov glanced at Vir, who had paled.

"Surprise?" Vir said weakly.

Timov turned to Vir, waiting for his explanation.

"The . . . ehrm . . . palace felt that Your Ladyship might be reluctant to meet with Dr. Franklin and President Sheridan if you were advised of the reason for their visit."

"I should be very interested to hear what this visit is about, then," Timov said piqued, but rather than pursuing the subject, she added, "nevertheless, I would be a terrible host if I did not invite you in." Motioning to Palco, she instructed the staff to provide her guests with quarters in the private wing of the Great House.

When Palco directed a servant take Dr. Franklin's bag, Stephen demurred. "I'll need this, actually," he explained, leaving the bag hoisted over his shoulder as he followed Lady Timov to the Great House's grand receiving room.

"Now then," Timov welcomed her guests, "perhaps you can fill me in some of the details the palace failed to provide me with concerning your visit?"

Sheridan ran a hand through his graying hair, "First, let me say that I wanted to thank you for what you did for David. As a result, I wanted to do something for you, and while I was the commanding officer on Babylon 5, Dr. Franklin and I were made aware of a treatment that – well, it can heal your Lake's Syndrome."

Timov leaned in, clearly intrigued. "Why have I never heard of such a treatment if it has been in existence for nearly two decades?"

Sheridan glanced at the guards and servants staffing the room. "If we could demonstrate . . ." Sheridan said to her. "But I'm afraid the technology is for your eyes only," he added quietly.

Timov leaned back in her chair, weighing his request momentarily before she asked Vir to dismiss the room.

When everyone had left, Dr. Franklin pulled the aging machine with its alien markings from the bag he had been carrying. Swiftly, he hooked one side of the machine to Timov and the other side to Sheridan.

"This machine was able to treat a human's Lake Syndrome. We thought it might work for you," Franklin explained as he switched the machine on to its lowest setting.

Timov waited doubtfully, but within a few minutes, her eyes softened, and she clasped a hand to her chest. "I don't understand – how is it working?" she said, beginning to feel some relief from the perpetual pain of her Lake's Syndrome.

"We've studied it at length, but we still don't understand exactly how it works," Dr. Franklin said.

"It was originally designed as a torture machine," Sheridan said grimly. "Somehow, this little mechanical device is able to sap the life force from one person to heal another person of even their most egregious affectations."

"It is safe for all participants if used at the lowest setting," Dr. Franklin told her. "Used at anything higher, it would overwhelm the donor. In fact," he said, thinking of Marcus Cole, "it _has_ been used at higher settings - with disastrous consequences. But used at the lowest setting, it will provide you with a considerable amount of relief from your pain, and the life force transfer can delay further deterioration in your illness for some time."

Timov considered this thoughtfully. "I see," she replied before she methodically began to unhook herself from the machine.

Dr. Franklin put out a hand, "If we give you low dose treatments for a few days, it will—"

"—I understand," Timov said. "I've heard rumors of this type of machine – they are known to Centauri as 'agony machines,' but I didn't know that they existed outside of folklore. In any event, I understand the concept, and my daughter was right to hide the purpose of your visit from me."

"I don't understand," Sheridan said perplexedly. "You can see that the machine can help you. And it is the only way I could think of to thank you for what you did for David."

"My illness has been my constant companion for many years," Timov replied. "Everyone is afraid of dying these days, but my parents taught me that dying _well_ is better than merely living _longer_. I have come to terms with my illness, and frankly, I'm not sure that I wish to prolong its grip on me for any amount of time using this or any other means. It will eventually claim my life. _That_ , I know. It is, unfortunately, my destiny. The question is, will I decide _when_ I have had enough of it or would I like to _drag it out_?"

Stephen Franklin and John Sheridan sat back, stumped by her answer. They had not anticipated that she would refuse their offer of treatment.

Timov considered the machine at length. "I appreciate what you are attempting to do for me," she told them before relenting slightly. "Let me, at least, have the evening to think on your proposal."

Dr. Franklin began to pack the machine back into his bag, but Timov stopped him with a hand. "It will be safe here, Doctor. I will see that it is safeguarded, and we will return and discuss it here tomorrow."

After exchanging glances with Sheridan, Franklin nodded, and they watched as Timov called the imperial guards into the room and instructed that it be closely guarded.

Although she was feeling better from the momentary treatment, Timov was still worn out from the short visit, and she entrusted her visitors to Vir for the evening as she retired.

In Londo's medical quarters, she sighed, a deep tiredness overcoming her. She tapped her nails against the arm of her chair, but after some time, the tapping stopped abruptly, and she ushered Palco to her side. "Would you call the palace for me, Palco?" she asked.

* * *

"Empress Senna," a courtier approached the Empress. "Lady Timov requests an urgent communication."

Senna stared at the courtier uncomfortably. She knew that her mother would be unhappy about the unannounced visit, but she had hoped that her mother would accept President Sheridan's help without protest. "Put her through," she said softly, and in a moment, her mother appeared on the screen.

"You should have told me," Timov said, getting straight to the point.

"I _know_ , Mother, but everyone just wants you to feel better. Your illness has taken so much out of you. I would do anything to help you feel better."

"I know that you are trying to help," Timov replied, softening, "but I'm not interested in prolonging my life in this fashion, and it would have saved President Sheridan and Dr. Franklin quite the trip if you had told me what they were up to before they came all this way."

"We just want the best for you," Senna said. "I hope you didn't take your ire out on Vir," she added ruefully.

"No," Timov said, "he's busy entertaining the guests. But I do have an urgent favor to ask of you."

Senna nodded, "Of course, Mother." She was keenly aware that Timov rarely asked anything on her own behalf. "Whatever I can do."

Timov paused before she posed her request. "Shiv'kala has been declared guilty in a public trial, and he awaits your sentencing. Since President Sheridan is here, and he also suffered at the hands of the Drakh, I would like to sentence Shiv'kala, myself, before he leaves."

Senna considered her Mother's request. Senna had fought the Centaurum – and specifically President Toscaneli – to provide public trials of the Drakh. Toscaneli had argued that the longer they dragged out the Drakh problem, the longer the country's focus would be on the past, rather than on rebuilding the country. The Centaurum had pressured Senna to simply order mass executions of the Drakh being held in Centauri prisons rather than providing public trials, but Senna had held firm, refusing to line the palace grounds with Drakh heads until they were found duly guilty by a court of law.

Shiv'kala's trial had followed, and it had dominated the news cycle for weeks. Each scandalous revelation about how he had forcibly controlled Regent Virini and Emperor Mollari II had angered the country until the shouts for Shiv'kala's blood were overwhelming. But although he had been found guilty of crimes against the Republic, Empress Senna had not yet formally sentenced Shiv'kala, and the entire country was waiting for her final, decisive word on the subject. Because of all of these considerations, Senna knew her mother's request was not a small one.

On the other hand, Senna also knew that her mother had seen, first hand, what Shiv'kala had done to Londo and the country. Senna considered all of this, and at last she reluctantly nodded her agreement. "I will sign the order transferring the power of sentencing of Shiv'kala to you, Mother. Would you like me to inform the press and—"

"—No," Timov said. "Send him to me tonight. As soon as possible."

* * *

Under the cover of darkness, Shiv'kala was transferred to House Mollari, and while the Great House slept, Lady Timov had Shiv'kala and the machine brought to Londo's medical suite under heavy guard. Under her direction, Timov instructed that it be fastened to Shiv'kala and Londo's inert body exactly as she had seen Dr. Franklin operate it.

"Some years ago," she turned to Shiv'kala, I asked you what your people wanted – what we could offer to end the conflict between our people."

 _"You want a homeworld?_ " Timov had said to him those long years before, _"I will ensure you receive one – do you want Seti IV as a prize? I will give it to you. What else could you want besides a homeland for your people and security to keep them safe? Would you like a treaty with the Centauri promising our security and protection for your people? I will give it to you. We will protect your ships if that is what you want. Whatever it is, tell me so that we may come to an understanding, and you may leave my world in peace at last."_

But Shiv'kala had haughtily refused her offer. _"We don't have to negotiate with you,"_ he had said. _"We take what we want."_

"I know your people – the Drakh Entire - are privy to this conversation as clearly as if they were in the room with us." Timov addressed the Drakh elder, her eyes growing colder. "And they were there when I told you that you would regret not taking what I offered that day."

Shiv'kala curled his lips back in a hiss.

"You have been declared guilty of crimes against the Republic," Timov pronounced. "And your sentence," she flipped the agony machine on, "is to suffer all of the ills that you inflicted upon my husband. Still," Timov continued, "I offer you a great mercy. Unlike Londo, you will not be subjected to years of torture, the way you exacted pain from his body and his mind over 15 long years. You will receive it all tonight. For that, you may be thankful for the mercy of the Centauri Republic." And with that, she twisted the machine onto its highest setting and grimly watched the machine transfer the suffering that had been inflicted on Londo to the Drakh elder. Shiv'kala shriveled inwardly as the internal pain of Londo's torture – covered by the illusion of a peaceful coma – filled his own cells. Almost as soon as Timov turned the switch, the machine began to smoke. As Shiv'kala clutched blindly at the air, electrical components of the machine burst into flame. Shiv'kala fell to his knees, sound unable to escape his lips as his eyes bulged with pain. Timov quickly motioned to nearby guards to put out the fire, but even as they worked, the machine did not stop, and Shiv'kala lurched forward, his body flopping awkwardly, lifeless.

"Deliver his head to the palace," Timov instructed the guards grimly. "His sentence has been carried out."

Only after Shiv'kala's body was removed and the guards had departed did Timov glance at Londo, wondering if Shiv'kala's life force had any effect on her husband's condition, but Londo did not stir. At last, alone, Timov listened once again to the familiar, rhythmic sound of the life support machine. She laid a gentle hand on Londo's arm and gave him a lingering squeeze, her hand trembling. "It is done," she told him.

* * *

The next morning willpower propelled Timov to greet her guests as they rose.

"Did you consider the treatment?" Dr. Franklin asked her politely after they departed breakfast.

"I'm afraid the treatment isn't a possibility anymore, Doctor," she told him. Candidly, she explained the events of the previous evening including the destruction of the machine and awaited their reactions.

Sheridan and Franklin stared at her. "That machine wasn't brought here to take someone's life," Sheridan said, anger edging into his voice.

"And yet," Timov replied, "it brought the only justice left for Londo. A hollow justice perhaps, but sometimes hollow justice is all that is left to us."

Sheridan shook his head, his anger fading, "I'll be honest – we were afraid of that machine from the beginning for exactly this reason. Having it mothballed was never quite enough. Maybe the best thing that ever happened to it was for it to be destroyed."

"The Drakh physiology must have overrun the machine's system," Franklin mused. He turned to Timov, "Did Londo's condition improve at all?"

"It didn't appear to do anything for him," Timov responded. "But that wasn't the point anyway."

"Do you mind if I go up and examine him?" Franklin asked.

Timov dipped her head in acquiescence, but she waited, fatigued from the events of the night, in the receiving room while the guards escorted Dr. Franklin to Londo's bedside.

With the aide of one of the Centauri physicians, Dr. Franklin ran a battery of tests, and when he returned to Timov's side, he said, "Incredibly, there are some marked improvements in Londo's condition. A scan of his internal organs and his neural pathways shows significant regrowth of dead or decaying cells."

"Do you think he could emerge from his coma?" Timov could barely keep her voice steady.

Dr. Franklin replied carefully, "Every time we've used that machine, its effects have been instantaneous. Londo's condition has improved enough that he could be taken off of life support, but beyond that . . . ."

"I see," Timov took a deep breath. "Enough to leave him lingering in a coma for several more years." She clasped her hands in front of her, her face serious, "I _am_ sorry you came all this way and that your machine was destroyed."

Sheridan looked at the ground, "Knowing what David endured at the hands of the Drakh, I may not _like_ what you did, but I can _understand_ it." They took their leave of Timov and returned to the site of their transport ship. As the ship was boarding, Sheridan turned to Franklin. "There's not many people who would turn down the opportunity for a longer life."

Dr. Franklin shook his head, "Considering how many people still search for the fountain of youth, that's true."

Sheridan glanced back toward House Mollari, "And she handed over the reins of power - she could have been Empress for years."

"The Centauri could learn something from her," Dr. Franklin agreed.

"We could probably _all_ learn something from her," Sheridan replied.

The two took once last glance around Centauri Prime before the door to their transport ship closed, sending them home.

* * *

Months later, Timov found herself, as she did every night, in Londo's suite. Contrary to Dr. Franklin's statement that the machine's healing mechanism appeared to be instantaneous - and perhaps because the donor organism was a Drakh or because of the machine's glitches that led to the fire - Londo's physical condition _had_ improved since the machine transferred Shiv'kala's life force, but even as Londo's body continued to heal, he had not awoken. Centauri doctors were at a loss as to how to revive him, but there was a chance, they told Timov, that he might yet awaken on his own. That hope, however, had faded away after he had been in the coma for over a year.

When Londo had been removed from the life support machine after the departure of Sheridan and Franklin, Londo's room had become eerily quiet, devoid of the constant whirring of the life support machine. Now, Timov was used to the stillness and quiet of his room. The solitude of Londo's medical suite gave her respite from the façade of strength she put on each day to face the outside world.

Timov glanced out Londo's bedside window, the glow of the Capitol City's lights faintly visible in the distance, and she smiled as she thought of her granddaughter sleeping peacefully in the palace. But her thoughts of Corianna were abruptly interrupted by a low and hoarse voice.

"You are supposed to be dead."

Timov startled at the sound of a stranger's voice, and she whirled around, trying to locate its origin. The voice hardly struck any recognition in her – it was rough, forced over vocal cords that had been damaged.

Shocked, Timov's gaze fell to Londo, and she stared, uncomprehendingly, at Londo's open blue eyes for a moment before she recovered herself to respond to him, "I could say the same for you."

Londo coughed, sputtering before he reached slowly toward her, apparently testing whether she was a mirage created by his mind, and emotion crossed his features when his fingers brushed against her.

He blinked and drew his hand back, this time reaching toward his shoulder as he sensed that the Drakh parasite was no longer burrowed in his shoulder. As his fingers touched his shoulder, his eyes widened and he turned to his surroundings. "I am home?" he stared at the familiar room. "But what of the attack…?"

Timov could see that Londo could barely get the words out as emotion washed over him.

"There was no attack," she responded softly. "But that stunt you and G'Kar pulled – _idiotic_. Two grown men cannot come up with a better solution than trying to kill each other?"

"Well," Londo rasped as he closed his eyes, "don't hold back how you _really_ feel."

Timov could feel her own hearts beating harder, "I'll get a doctor."

"No," Londo's voice continued to strain at raw, hoarse vocal cords. "I don't need a doctor."

"What _can_ I get for you?" Timov asked intently. She saw Londo turn a palm over, and she placed her hand in it.

"Stay with me," he said quietly, his voice giving out as he noticed the missing finger on her hand.

Timov remembered his heartbreaking plea to stay with him when he'd had his second heart attack, "I won't leave you," she told him.

"I know," he whispered, a faint smile appearing on his face. He held her hand close to his chest, and his eyes faded closed again.


	46. Dead Man's Tales

Eventually Timov dozed off, her fingers still entwined with Londo's, but a short while later, she woke up to the feeling of appendages winding their way around her arm and her torso. Slapping them away, she looked back at Londo. "You've been awake for mere moments, and already you are getting fresh with me."

Londo chuckled quietly. "I was just trying to wake you up gently," he said with a smile, but his face turned serious quickly. "I have an urgent message," he rasped over his broken vocal cords. "It is for President Sheridan – it is about an undetectable Drakh base in hyperspace."

Timov stared at Londo, wondering if the disorientation of waking from his coma was making him hallucinate. To be able to anchor and maintain – let alone detect - a base in hyperspace was beyond the technological capacity of any known civilization. She squeezed his hand, "The Drakh attack is over – it's all in the past."

Londo searched her face, "Then, they know about the base?"

"We'll talk about it when you are back on your feet," Timov replied gently.

Londo seemed to accept this, nodding as his eyes glazed over. "I feel," he shook his head, "strangely better. I can breathe freely again and—" He tried to pull himself up into a sitting position.

"Londo," Timov put a restraining hand on his chest. "Don't get up," she commanded him sternly.

Londo ignored her comments, trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed as he reached out toward her, "You said we would talk about it when I am back on my feet, so give me a hand."

"Londo, no," Timov said authoritatively. "I mean it, if you try to get out of bed, you will end up unceremoniously on the floor because I won't be able to prevent your fall."

Londo glanced up, his progress arrested by the sharpness in her tone, and for the first time since waking up, he studied her drawn and sallow complexion closely.

"You have been in a coma for some time," she said, ignoring the way he was looking at her, "and you may feel better, but the doctors said if you woke up, you'd have to go through physical therapy to regain—"

"—How long?" Londo asked, confused.

Timov stared at him for a moment before answering. "You've been in a coma for a year," she responded softly.

"A _year_?" Londo shook his head, "No, it cannot be. I was just at the palace and—"

"A year," Timov repeated firmly.

Londo blinked in bewilderment. "What has happened?" he asked slowly.

"Lie back," Timov instructed him. "Let me get the doctors, they'll look you over, and then I'll tell you everything."

Dazed, Londo slumped backwards into the pillows. This time he did not stop her from calling in the doctors, and cadres of medical staff excitedly swarmed around him at the news that he had awoken.

* * *

After ensuring Corianna had been put to bed, Vir was reading daily ministry updates when Senna snuck up behind his sofa, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

" _Hello_ , Prime Minister," she said happily. "Between our schedules, I've barely seen you this week."

Surprised, Vir jumped at her touch before he patted her arms with a smile. "I know – I can't wait until the Centaurum recesses for Founder's Day celebrations," he sighed.

Senna released her arms from around his next and circled the sofa, settling in beside him. "I could use a vacation from dealing with their machinations," she said good-naturedly.

Vir glanced at his wife. "Toscaneli," he muttered.

"Yes," Senna agreed, her face becoming serious. "Ever since I took the throne, it seems he spends every waking moment rallying the older houses against me. It isn't just that I'm a woman on the throne – it's a real vendetta with him."

"I'm afraid," Vir sighed, shaking his head, "He'll never forgive Londo – or you - for what happened to his father. And on top of that, he thinks his honor was impugned by House Mollari those many years ago, and frankly, he probably feels the throne belongs to him."

"The Republic should be united after all that has happened, but he has turned half the Centaurum against me already. I don't know who I feel more sorry for," Senna responded, "him or the country that he holds hostage with his hurt pride." She drummed her fingers, "The more progress we make, the more we slip into our old ways."

"The noble families want to retain power," Vir said aptly, "and they are afraid you are giving it away – to slaves, to women, to the common people. He's feeding their insecurity."

"I know," Senna said. "It is just that I could have gotten so much _more_ done by now if he wasn't set against everything I do."

"He shouldn't underestimate the woman who took the throne of the Centauri Republic," Vir said. "You are bringing change to a people who desperately need some."

"Even when the Centaurum isn't fighting my _actual_ decisions tooth and nail, they criticize me for not issuing a decision they _like_ fast enough, claiming that the amount of time it takes to study an issue and come to a judicious decision makes me weak which, of course they say, is because I am a woman."

Vir sighed, throwing an arm around his wife before he looked into her eyes. "Yes," he told her, "they _will_ say that, regardless of what you do. But you cannot let those sorts of words sway you from your own mind."

"Papa would _never_ put up with this from the Centaurum. He wouldn't let them walk all over him," Senna's eyes fell.

Vir looked away before he took one of Senna's hands in his own, "Londo _would_ know what _he_ wanted to do. That doesn't mean you have to make the choices that he would make. And it doesn't mean he was right all of the time. Londo had his methods, and you've got your own. Part of ruling is finding your own way."

"I know," she agreed. "I think I have found my own way, due in no small part to your advice. But sometimes I just wish—"

Her thoughts were interrupted by a small, insistent beep.

At the noise, Vir glanced at Senna. The notification was reserved for emergencies. Pensively, Vir reached out, pressing the button to activate the screen.

"Emperor Mollari II has awoken from his coma," came the voice of one of Senna's advisors, and Vir and Senna stared at each other, their eyes wide with surprise.

* * *

A short time after the message had been delivered, a royal motorcade bearing Senna, Vir, and Corianna arrived at the Great House. They made their way to Londo's quarters, and Senna glimpsed a nurse open the doors to Londo's bedroom.

"Papa!" Senna clapped her hands together as she caught sight of her father in the bed beyond, and she rushed into the room leaving Vir behind, her cheeks blushing with happiness.

"Senna," Londo rasped, his voice hollow and low.

The sound of her name brought tears to her eyes, "You _remember_ ," she bit her quivering lip.

"How could I forget?" he replied. "You make a better princess of the Republic than a governess."

"I _knew_ it!" Senna exclaimed, "I _knew_ you remembered."

"I never forgot," Londo reassured her, "It was all I could do to protect you from _them_. But where is Vir?"

"He's in the hallway with your granddaughter," Senna said before calling out to Vir.

Londo's smile faded with astonishment, "My granddaughter . . . ?"

Vir peered around the door pensively, and at Senna's wave, he brought Corianna into the room, but he didn't make eye contact with Londo.

Londo reached a hand out slowly, touching the child's toes with wonder. "She is beautiful," he murmured. "You have named her for me, of course?"

Timov was waiting in the back of the room, and at his comment, she folded her arms, shook her head, and rolled her eyes.

"Oh Papa," Senna laughed, "no one could replace you, so how could we try?"

Londo chuckled, "My daughter, the diplomat."

Corianna, still in her father's arms, began to cry.

"Oh," Senna said, looking over Vir's arms, "all the travel and commotion today has upset Corianna."

"I will take her," Timov offered, stretching out her arms.

"It's all right," Vir said, but Timov ignored him and retrieved the child from his arms. Reluctantly, he handed the child over to her grandmother.

"You should talk to Londo," Timov whispered quietly to Vir before she retired to the hallway with Corianna.

"I-I think it would be best if I waited outside," Vir stammered, but he was stopped by Londo's voice.

"Vir," Londo called to him, but Vir did not move. "Vir," Londo said more emphatically, "come here."

Half-heartedly, Vir moved toward the bed. Londo pointed to the chair beside him, and finally Vir settled in it. After a prolonged silence, Vir's eyes on the ground in front of him, Vir softly whispered, "How could you? How could you say those things?"

"You would have tried to stop me from what I needed to do that night, and they would have killed you," Londo said, his voice strained.

Vir's chin trembled as he tried to hold back his emotions. "Those things you said to me . . . ."

Senna glanced at Vir, "Did something happen between you two that I don't know about?" she asked, bewildered.

Londo disregarded her question, "After all of these years, Vir, I know the things that can hurt you the most – the way to make you angry. And I needed your anger that night – to make you go, so that I could do what needed to be done."

"So you are saying," Vir looked up at last, his eyes red, "that you were just manipulating me?"

"Papa," Senna said, confusion on her face, "what did you say to him?"

"Lies," Londo said simply, "not worth repeating."

Tears fell down Vir's face as his voice wavered. "To leave like that—"

Londo grasped Vir's forearm and pulled him close, "Listen to me, Vir. Do you _really_ think that I believed those things? That I would keep you by my side for all of these years if I thought those things? That I would let you marry my daughter if I believed those things?"

"I don't know," Vir dragged a sleeve over his eyes.

"Of course you do," Londo replied, patting Vir's arm. "And if I had to do it again, I would. Not to hurt you, Vir, but because there was no other way – to save our people, to shield _you_ from the Drakh."

Vir wiped his tears away again, reluctantly accepting Londo's explanation, "If you had to do it again, you shouldn't, Londo, because I don't know if I'd be able to forgive you again."

Londo snorted, "Of course you would – because that is who you are. Not even I," he said, brightening, "have been able to wring the better parts out of you."

Vir stood up, his frustration evident, "You mean that I'm someone who lets other people walk all over him?"

"No," Londo shook his head decisively, his remaining voice starting to give out. "I merely meant that you are a better person than I am," he patted the younger man's arm with a smile.

Londo leaned back into the pillows arranged behind him, and as he moved, his eyes fell upon the necklace that Senna wore. He stared at it, perplexed.

"This necklace," he gestured toward it. "It is the necklace Empress Sandolina wore when she assumed the throne, yes? I am surprised the Centaurum has allowed anyone to wear it, even a princess of the Republic."

Senna exchanged glances with Vir.

"I'll get Lady Timov from the hallway," Vir said, excusing himself.

" _Lady_?" Londo's brow furrowed suspiciously. "What is the meaning of this?"

Timov reappeared, a serious look on her face, and she wordlessly communicated to Senna that she would handle discussing the state of the Crown with Londo.

"Londo," she said, "I will fill you in on the details, but the doctors don't want you concentrating on politics until—"

"—You will tell me now," Londo demanded.

Timov sighed. "For all intents and purposes, you died on that palace floor. The doctors told me – repeatedly – that your condition was terminal, and you would _never_ wake up. You were on life support for months, brain dead," she took a moment to compose herself. She took a deep breath, ready to face Londo's ire. "I declared you dead, Londo, to allow the succession rules to be invoked. It wasn't fair to the people to have a ruler who could not regain consciousness," she added.

"So how is it that I have regained consciousness?" Londo asked in a low tone. "And that I feel far better than I did before?"

"Dr. Franklin and President Sheridan brought an agony machine here," Senna interjected. "It was destroyed, but it brought you back from the brink."

Londo stared hard at this news, "I see." He gestured at the necklace again, "And since I am dead, who has succeeded me?"

"The Centaurum agreed to allow women of legal age to inherit the throne, and I changed your will to make Senna your heir," Timov said matter-of-factly. "It has cemented your place as a reformer," she added dryly.

Londo coughed, gesturing for a glass as he shook his head. Timov retrieved a glass, but he narrowed his eyes at it, "I'm going to need something stronger than this," he said before considering her words. "And the Centaurum – they did this of their own free will, did they?"

Timov crossed her arms, "They were shown the light, you might say."

"I see," Londo narrowed his eyes.

"We've got to figure out what we are going to tell the people about your recovery," Senna tapped a thoughtful nail on her chin.

"I don't think we can say anything publicly about the method," Timov replied. "Dr. Franklin and President Sheridan came here secretly, and their involvement will leave the Crown open to criticism of foreign interference - that and half the people won't believe it anyway. The machine no longer exists, and everyone believes agony machines are made-up poppycock."

"For now," Londo agreed, "the method of my recovery will remain between us in this room. But the more important thing is what will happen to the Crown. I am not in any condition to reassume my duties and may not be so for some time."

"I will safeguard your position, Papa, until you are ready to return," Senna reassured Londo. "But right now your recovery is the most important thing. And anything I can do, anything the palace can do for you . . . ."

"A royal edict," he gestured toward Timov, "to allow my brivari nightcap would be a good start. And you must find the Drakh base in subspace–"

Senna and Vir both paused at his words.

"How could anyone have a base in subspace, Papa?" Senna asked him quietly. "Let alone _find_ it?"

"I saw it," Londo's voice was fading, "when the Drakh touched my mind. They are out there, somewhere, plotting . . . ."

"We'll look into it," Senna reassured him. "And I am only the Empress, but I will beseech the gods on your behalf," she glanced at Timov with a slight smile, "for your brivari. Feel better, Papa, we'll be back to see you as soon as we can." She hugged him tightly before she took Vir's hand and departed the room, leaving Timov with him alone again.

"You must be tired," Timov said to him.

"Yes," he admitted.

Timov returned to the oversized chair next to Londo's bed and dimmed the lights before she rang a nearby bell for the servants. "Bring a bottle of brivari, would you, Palco?" she said.

"Of course," he bowed, returning shortly afterward. At Timov's nod, he poured Londo a nightcap.

Staring at the brivari in his hand, Londo said, "You have finally taken pity on me."

"No, I'm just aware of how stubborn you are when you want something," she replied. "And anyway, I thought you would be angry when you heard what had happened in your absence."

Londo met her steady gaze, "You told me some of this before, yes?"

"I haven't talked to you about it—" she stopped suddenly. "Do you mean while you were in the coma? What did you hear? What do you remember?"

"I don't know," he shook his head, "It was your voice – it was all that kept me from the abyss. Besides, they say an Empress Dowager can speak to her dead Emperor," he said with a chuckle.

"If that is true," Timov said with a look of chagrin, "you were being uncharacteristically silent. I should have known you weren't _really_ dead."

Londo shrugged as he sipped his brivari, "I was merely letting you enjoy it while it lasted."

"Little did I know how fleeting it would be," Timov replied with an arched eyebrow.

"Come here," Londo patted the bed next to him. "I have some things I want to talk to you about."

Timov considered his request, and at last, she circled the bed, arranging herself next to him on the bed.

Londo looked at her strangely. "Your condition," his voice broke and his brow furrowed, "has deteriorated, has it not? You were my regent, and I know Timov of Alghul would not simply give away the Crown if it were entrusted to her. And I also know that President Sheridan and Dr. Franklin would _never_ use an agony device in such a way that it would be able to cure my condition because it would cost a life."

"—Londo—"

"—Don't waste your breath trying to deny it. I'm not a fool, nor am I blind. They came here to help you, and somehow, you broke it trying to use it to help me, rather than treating your own condition."

Timov looked at her hands, "It wouldn't have worked on me anyway. I'm more stubborn than you."

Londo snorted, "At _last_ you admit it. Rather convenient that there are no witnesses, yes?"

Timov smiled and grasped his arm. "As for my condition – how can I possibly admit that you are right twice in one night?"

After a moment, he very gently took her closest hand in both of his. "In the past, I could not give you all of the luxuries you deserved. Under my command, I have sent you away, and you have been imprisoned in the dungeons. Not anymore." He paused a moment, let his vocal cords catch up with his thoughts. "At the very least, I cannot allow you to sleep in that chair," he gestured toward the oversized chair near his bedside. "It is aggravating your condition. So," he put his arm around her pulling her closer, "now, your place is here, next to me."

Timov put one hand over her eyes as her jaw quivered.

"All right," he said quietly, trying to comfort her as he tightened his embrace.

For the first time in a long, long time, Timov let her suitably high walls down, "I really thought you were gone forever, Londo," she told him. The tears fell, against her will, into her husband's shoulder. After a moment, she pinched her eyes, trying to arrest her weeping, "I can't seem to hold myself together anymore. If there's one thing I detest, it is letting anyone – especially you – see my weakness."

"There is no weakness in tears, Timov. It takes bravery to show your feelings," he reassured her. "And you have held everything together for everyone else for so long," he kissed her forehead gently, "You are the strongest woman I know."

Timov flicked away her tears with her nails, "You are exhibiting a rebellious streak of familial romanticism in your old age. If you keep this up, before I know it, you'll start bringing me flowers."

"What do you mean?" Londo frowned. "I've brought you flowers before," he said, somewhat irritated at the suggestion that he had neglected this duty.

"No," Timov said, "you saved gestures like that for the cadres of women you _actually_ courted."

"Pshhh," Londo grumbled. "You don't even _like_ flowers."

"How would you know?" she asked, mild exasperation beginning to color her tone. "And anyway, I simply don't like _cut_ flowers. I've never quite understood why anyone wants to look at something very clearly in the process of dying."

"You see?" Londo protested. "You prove my point – you _don't_ like them. What am I supposed to do, arrange for cartons of live flowers to be delivered to you?"

"I don't see what would prevent you," Timov said curtly. "Sometimes worth can be calculated by more than the sum total of how many florists you know."

"Timov," Londo raised his hands slightly before replacing them around her, "I surrender."

"Surrender?" she said, "I doubt that you would ever—"

But before she could continue, Londo leaned in, cutting her protests off as his lips softly brushed hers, sending shivers along her body as it trembled against his touch. She felt the warmth of his breath, and she felt a chemical reaction stir in her body: heat rising in her cheeks, electricity moving swiftly along her veins, tremors shaking her nerves. Her body stiffened in response as if to subtly remind him that she, alone, was in charge of her body and her emotions, but her resistance melted, and she yielded to his embrace, the remaining space between them evaporating as she returned the kiss, and she felt herself blossoming at his tender touch. She closed her eyes, and she felt his affectionate touch envelop her as his appendages twined around her legs, her torso, her arms. For a fleeting moment, she considered how odd it was that a mere kiss could stop time and reverse it, making the years fall away, erasing the difficult problems of their early marriage, and leaving her hearts aflutter.

* * *

An aide delivered a communiqué embellished with the royal seal to the president's office, and Toscaneli ripped open the letter, his lips tightly pursed as he glanced over it.

Toscaneli snorted in disbelief before he looked up, a finger tapping on the communiqué.

Lord Stalio, one of the Centaurum nobles was sitting nearby, and he poured himself a brivari. He turned, slowly sipping it, "Well, what has our treasured Empress done _this_ time?" he said, a touch of snideness evident in his reference to their young ruler.

Toscaneli waived the communiqué with one hand. "Not _her_. Mollari has awoken from his coma."

The noble sputtered, spilling his drink down his jacket. With one hand, he tried to wipe the liquid away. "That's not possible," he said. "They said he wouldn't—couldn't—it's just not _possible_."

Toscaneli reread the communiqué, "It is signed in the Empress's hand. It looks real to me – now the question is, what will the palace _do_ about it."

Surprised, Lord Stalio threw back the rest of his unspilled brivari before taking a nearby seat. "Well, if I were _her_ ," he said, "I wouldn't let Mollari get out of bed." He chuckled grimly, shaking his head.

Toscaneli looked at the noble with a hard stare before realization dawned on him, and a cold smile spread over his face.


	47. What Will Be Taken

Andilo Mollari and Buesso Refa, House Mollari and House Refa's representatives to the Centaurum, strode through the halls of the palace. Upon being granted access to the throne room, they bowed at the entrance.

"Majesty," they bowed low before the Empress and nodded to the Prime Minister.

"Gentlemen," Senna approached her cousins. "What brings you to the palace? Not more intrigue with Toscaneli and the Centaurum, I hope."

The look on Andilo's face and Buesso's face immediately telegraphed to Senna that she had aptly guessed the reason for their visit.

"We thought you'd want to know," Buesso said, "President Toscanelli has instructed every member of the Centaurum to pay their respects to Emperor Mollari."

Senna's brows knitted together, "That sounds almost sympathetic of him, but you suspect he is up to something darker?"

"He's been meeting with every major religious leader he can gather," Andilo said.

"For what reason?" Senna asked.

"We don't know yet," Buesso said. "Other than the religious leaders are rousing the people's sympathy toward the Emperor."

Senna leaned against her desk, looking at them inquisitively before she glanced at Vir, "We know Toscaneli has no love for Papa, so what could he be up to?"

"I don't know," Vir replied, "but it can't be good."

"Cousin," Buesso said with a touch of inquisitiveness. "What _are_ the circumstances behind the Emperor's miraculous recovery? We were all told his recovery was hopeless . . . ."

Senna sighed, glancing at Vir as she thought of Sheridan and Franklin's involvement. "It is a delicate subject, I'm afraid. One I cannot discuss, even with my cousins."

Andilo snorted, and Buesso swallowed his displeasure.

Senna glanced at the door where a new arrival was waiting. "Oh Emanio," she waved him toward her. "Come and join us – we were just speaking of Papa."

She turned toward her cousins with a grin. "Papa used to say that good spies were worth more than good friends," she laughed. "Mother sent Emanio to me to give an update on Papa's condition." She turned back to Emanio, "How are they both, Emanio?"

Emanio stood stiffly before the Empress. "His Majesty has passed all of his medical tests with flying colors, but because of his prolonged infirmity, he has little physical stamina, so he is undergoing intense physical therapy."

Senna, Vir, Buesso, and Andilo glanced at each other. "And how is Papa taking that?" Senna asked, a concerned lilt in her tone.

"He has made his objections known," Emanio said diplomatically.

Andilo stifled a grin.

"His Majesty's protests - would you characterize them as . . . vigorous?" Beusso asked wryly.

Emanio glanced around the room before responding, "An apt term, Lord Refa," he inclined his head.

"Oh dear," Senna could already see her father bellowing as loudly as his broken voice would let him. Such yelling, she knew, usually intimidated his medical staff into submission, and she wondered if he would possibly receive the medical care he needed to make a full recovery. "Is he doing any of what they tell him?" she asked, concerned.

"He has done all of it," Emanio replied brightening. Raising a finger, he added, "Lady Timov has been conscripted as the enforcement arm of the medical staff."

At his reply, Senna, Vir, Buesso, and Andilo laughed, knowingly.

As their laughter faded away, Senna asked, "And Mother? How is she doing?"

For the first time, Emanio stood silently. At last, he offered, "Lady Timov's condition, as you know, has deteriorated in the past year, but she puts on a good show for everyone. The Emperor has been made aware of the severity of her condition somehow, for he is _so_ very gentle with her."

"At least there is someone to look out for her now," Senna said softly as she glanced at Vir. Her guests agreed and departed, leaving her and Vir alone.

"In light of Timov's condition, maybe Londo will leave you in charge of the throne," he said quietly.

"No," Senna replied. "After all they have been through, Papa would do anything for Timov. But I don't think he would give up the Crown. On our last walk at the Sea Palace, he said that the idea of giving up power was difficult - and especially under these circumstances - I'm sure he has always had plans for what he would do if he was not under the thumb of the Drakh. To give that up – the thought of what he _could_ have done - his dreams for this country – it would be difficult for anyone and near impossible for him."

"No," Vir agreed, "he has always taken his duties as emperor very seriously." Vir put his arm around Senna, "Just as you have. For now, I'm sure he couldn't be more pleased that you are safeguarding his throne for him."

Senna smiled, and a blush brightened her cheeks. She walked to her desk and took a sketch from it, "In the meantime, the courtiers have redesigned the royal seal for me." She held up the sketch, depicting a _baguan_ bird guarding each side of the Crown. "What do you think?"

"It's perfect," Vir said with a smile, thinking of the role the small bird had in freeing their country.

* * *

Palco threw open the heavily brocaded curtains, letting the morning light stream into the Emperor's bedroom.

Londo threw an arm over his eyes and groaned. "Morning, already?"

"Yes, sire," Palco said brightly, folding back the linens on the Emperor's bed.

Londo glanced to his side and noticed Timov had already arisen, leaving him alone. "My wife has abandoned me to prepare for my morning torture?" he rasped over his broken vocal cords.

A smile crept onto Palco's face before it disappeared again. "Her Ladyship _is_ discussing today's physical therapy regimen with the doctors."

Londo grunted as he pulled himself up on his elbows, propping himself against a cascade of pillows. "She is taking some pleasure in her new duties as my warden," he said wryly.

Palco retrieved the Emperor's breakfast, placing it on a bedside tray, and he meticulously arranged seven silver utensils before removing the lid from the dish.

Londo looked at the tray thoughtfully, "What is squeezed between my morning torture and my afternoon torture on today's schedule, Palco?"

"There are two guests calling on you this morning, Majesty," Palco informed him.

Londo sighed, "More members of the Centaurum I suspect? It has been a constant parade of them. They march in one door, tell me how glad they are to see me, inform me that the government is falling apart, ask that I intervene on some trivial matter, and then they traipse out the other door."

"Only one member of the Centaurum is expected this morning. It is Lord Stalio," Palco said, thumbing through the schedule. "The High Priest of Trias is accompanying him. They are already making their way through security and should be here shortly after your morning stroll. If it pleases Your Majesty, there are several more Centaurum members who have requested an audience this afternoon."

Londo grunted again, pushing his breakfast aside and waving Palco to get his clothes. "Yes, all right. But I cannot receive them like this."

Palco bowed and retrieved the Emperor's garments that he had laid out the night before. The garments were loose, designed to be easier for the Emperor to slip on and off while his muscles were recuperating from a year of nonuse. Once Palco had fastened the long rows of buttons, Palco called the guards waiting outside, and they helped the Emperor stand. The simple effort left the Emperor breathing harder, and beads of sweat were visible on his brow.

"Are you back from your morning walk already?"

The guards, Palco, and the Emperor turned abruptly at the sound of Timov's voice at the bedroom door.

"Of course—" Londo replied.

"—No." Palco responded at the same time.

Londo glanced at Palco as he mumbled under his breath, "Traitor."

Timov crossed her arms, a touch of disapproval flitting over her features. "Londo, you're wearing yourself out just getting dressed," she scolded him. "You should put your energy into what matters – the doctors said you need to focus on building up your endurance to walk and—"

Londo released his unsteady grip from Palco's shoulder as he adjusted his embroidered cuffs. "The members of the Centaurum will have hidden cameras on them, and I don't want photos to get out into the daily rags that make me look like an invalid."

Timov crossed the room, taking his arm, and she nodded imperceptibly at Palco who vigilantly guarded the Emperor's other flank in case he took an errant step.

"Just down the hall, a little further than yesterday," Timov encouraged Londo.

After fifteen minutes of slow and painful steps interspersed with complaining and several colorful phrases in Centauri, Londo suddenly clasped Palco's shoulder with his free hand. "This is enough. Help me sit down," he said, breathing hard, his face drained of color.

Palco and the guards helped Londo into a nearby seat as Timov stepped back, watching.

When the Emperor was settled, he waved to Palco, "I'll receive the visitors here, yes?"

Palco nodded, and he began to leave to make the preparations, but Timov caught Palco's sleeve lightly just outside the door.

"Thank you, Palco, for helping him. I know he is particularly cross during his physical therapy, and I know you have taken the brunt of it. He is quite used to doing what he wants and the state of his body, of late, is preventing him from doing most anything. At least we can thank the Great Maker that his damaged vocal cords prevent everyone in the house from hearing his protests."

Palco smiled, "It is nothing, Lady Timov. For so long, the Great House seemed empty without his voice, so it is a blessing from the gods to find it with us once again."

"Even when he's irritated?" Timov reflected Palco's smile.

"Especially in those moments," Palco replied, his eyes dancing, "it seems to regain some of its old strength."

"It does," Timov patted his hand before she turned around and returned to Londo's side.

"Well," Londo glanced up at Timov, his breath having slowed almost to normal again. "I can think of better ways to increase my stamina."

Timov raised an eyebrow at him, "I think the doctors are worried about increasing your vertical stamina, Londo, not your horizontal stamina."

"You never know," he took her hand, kissed it, and held it to his chest between his hearts, "perhaps one would help with the other."

"You are the most incorrigible man I have ever met," Timov told him, a faint smile evident as she lightly squeezed his hand.

* * *

High Priest Ygust and Lord Stalio approached the Great House's southern hallway, bowing when they reached the Emperor's royal guards, several paces from the chair the Emperor was occupying. Londo beckoned the two guests past the guards with a wave. Ignoring Stalio, he turned to the priest, "Ygust, finally, a respite from politics."

Ygust clasped his hands behind his back. "Not entirely," he nodded toward Lord Stalio at his elbow. "If I hadn't convinced a member of the Centaurum to let me accompany him, I'm not sure I could have gotten past the crowds at the gate. In any event, when I heard that you had awoken, I wanted to pay my humble respects. But more than that, divine intervention in the affairs of man by the gods requires immediate recognition. Your return is the talk of all the temples."

"I can assure you, it was not divinity that saved me," Londo replied mildly.

The High Priest tipped forward in another small bow as he smiled, "Your Majesty's modesty is beyond compare."

"I'm not sure that is what my wife would say," Londo gestured to Palco to retrieve drinks for the visitors.

Ygust and Stalio accepted the proffered drinks. "There is talk that an emperor resurrected from the jaws of death is a blessing sent by the gods themselves. It has been some time since the gods sent us a miracle, and this surely qualifies. Already," the light glinted off his rings as he leaned toward the Emperor, "I am receiving a number of requests for your intervention."

Londo stared circumspectly at the priest, "What do you mean, intervention?"

"With the gods, of course," Ygust said.

Londo narrowed his eyes, a look of disbelief on his face. "You can't be serious."

Ygust shrugged, "I can only tell you the sentiment of the people, Majesty. I am but a humble servant."

Londo rubbed his temples with one hand, muttering, "And I thought the requests I received as an ambassador, and then as prime minister, and then as emperor were trying."

Ygust rose and crossed to the window. He looked over the estate of the Great House, peering at the estate's fence in the distance. "Surely you have seen the crowds at the gates, Majesty?"

"I have heard a few people have shown up there," Londo replied.

"Not a few, Majesty. With each passing day, the throng swells," Ygust informed him.

"I suppose if they are praying for me, I should be thankful," Londo said as he sipped his brivari. "It is certainly better than the alternative."

Ygust flung the tails of his coat behind him as he sat down in one of the chairs adjacent to the Emperor. He leaned forward and whispered, "They _are_ praying, Majesty. But not _for_ you, _to_ you." He leaned back again.

Londo's face drained of color, "I trust," he growled, "you will _clear up_ this confusion when you return to the temple."

Ygust shrugged, "Humbly, Majesty, I am not one to question miracles. The people are looking forward to the day when such a man blessed by the gods is able to return to his duties, and when Your Majesty is feeling better," Ygust rubbed his hands, "we would be honored if you would join us at one of the temples to offer a blessing to the people."

Londo's brow furrowed in response to Ygust's comments, but after a silent moment, he considered the priest's request, "Senna has always been closer to the temples and dearer to the gods' hearts than I have - you should ask her."

"She is, of course, doing a splendid job," Ygust replied, "But . . . ." His words drifted into silence.

"But what?" Londo asked, a shadow passing over his face.

Lord Stalio stepped forward, "Majesty, if I might? The benefactors of the temples have suffered a great deal of hardships under her severe policies."

"By 'benefactors of the temples,' you mean the noble houses," Londo watched Stalio closely.

"Take for instance, the war tax," Stalio continued unperturbed. " _Of course_ the noble houses are willing to pay their fair share but to _immediately_ demand one third of the country's wealth - it is simply unprecedented."

Londo sighed. "And I thought you," he gestured toward the High Priest, annoyed, "would give me a moment's peace from politics." He looked back at Stalio, "Perhaps she could have implemented these changes over a longer period of time," Londo said, "but they would have been implemented _sooner_ or _later_."

"Of course Your Majesty is right," Stalio nodded demurely. "And we do not wish to tax Your Majesty's time or your patience, so we will beg our leave."

"And I," Ygust added, "pray that Your Majesty will grace the temple when Your Majesty is able. Until then, we shall lift you up in our prayers."

Londo nodded once in acknowledgement and watched the embellished coattails of Stalio and the long embroidered cassock of Ygust disappear down the hall.

* * *

Londo sat silently, contemplating the words of his visitors for an hour before Timov found him. Timov had put off the discussion for as long as she dared, but now, it was time to discuss the rather sensitive topic.

"Londo," Timov said, a touch tentatively, "I've been meaning to talk to you," she took a seat next to him, "about the Crown."

"I will resume my duties when I am able," Londo said.

"That's what I want to talk to you about," Timov clasped her hands together. "If you retake the throne, you will erase everything that has happened since I pronounced you dead."

"I cannot help that - it is a lifetime appointment, Timov," Londo said, puzzled. "Am I to ignore my duties?"

"Of course not, but there are extenuating circumstances, not the least of which is your own recuperation," Timov waved Palco and the guards away. "And it was not easy to extend the right of the throne to women - to Senna. Retaking the throne will erase her reign. You _know_ the noble families - they'll never allow the Centaurum to consider allowing women to serve in such a capacity for many more years. And the Centaurum has already revoked the supermajority override that I used to get it passed."

"You never asked _me_ what I thought of such a thing," Londo replied testily.

"Of course I did," Timov said curtly. "Perhaps you have forgotten, but long ago, I asked you if you thought Senna might be a good ruler - if it were permissible under the law, of course."

"But it was _not_ permissible under the law back then," Londo shot back.

"And now it is," Timov replied coolly.

Londo waived a dismissive hand, his voice rising, "It is two different things to be asked a hypothetical question and to make an actual decision about such things. Our tradition does not include women on the throne."

"And yet it is done," Timov said, a trifle briskly. "Senna is the Empress until you say that she is not. If you announce that my actions in convening the laws of succession were illegal because you, in fact, live, no one will argue that the throne is properly yours. And if you decline to take the throne back, who will challenge you? Will you _undo_ all that has been done in your absence and wipe your daughter's reign from the annals of Centauri history? Will you extinguish any possibility of women being able to inherit the throne in the future? You served with women on Babylon 5 and as Ambassador to Earth. Do you really believe we are _incapable_ of such service? You, alone, have the power to decide this issue for our country. And how many emperors have had the luxury of dictating their successor once they are dead? You can just as authoritatively determine the future by declining to act rather than by assuming the reins of power yourself. Do you not believe in Senna's abilities?"

"Timov," Londo said firmly, his voice colored with irritation, "it has _nothing_ to do with whether I think women should assume the throne. Nor does it have anything to do with Senna's place in history or her abilities. This has to do with an oath I took to this country many, many years ago. Now, I don't want to discuss it anymore."

And with that, the topic was closed to discussion.

* * *

A few nights later, Londo was watching the news, alone, with a frown on his face.

Lord Stalio appeared on the screen. "The Emperor has clearly expressed his disappointment with this administration's immediate demand of the noble houses to pay the war tax," the Centaurum noble told the reporters gathered in front of him.

A clip of the Emperor during Stalio's meeting appeared, "She could have implemented these changes over a longer period of time," Londo said in the short clip.

"You see," Stalio gestured to the reporters, "just as the Emperor said - she _could_ have, but she did not. What could be clearer?"

"I knew it," Londo gestured angrily at the screen, talking to himself. "Of course, they recorded it and took my comments out of context." Londo snapped the news off with a click, fury evident on his face. He shook his head and rubbed his face wearily.

"What will Senna think if my words are used against her at every turn?" he said to the empty room.

* * *

A few weeks later, President Toscanelli, the Younger, finally made his way to the Great House to see the Emperor. He was the last of the Centaurum members to call on the Emperor, and he walked into the receiving room set up for the occasion with a swagger, throwing his arms wide, "Majesty," he took note of Timov standing at the Emperor's elbow before he quickly bowed, "it is good to see you."

He took a data crystal from his pocket and held it up for the Emperor. "Not only am I here to send the well wishes of the Centaurum for your speedy recovery, but to bring you some very serious news. As you know, crowds have been gathering near the temples on your behalf. There is evidence on this data crystal that the Empress is organizing militias to combat your supporters at the temples."

Timov glanced at Londo sharply, but Londo merely gestured for Palco to take the data crystal from Toscaneli's hand. "I'm sure it is a misunderstanding," Londo said calmly. "The Ministry of Defense likely suggested that — for the safety of everyone — a plan of action concerning the crowds needed to be adopted."

"Majesty," Toscaneli glanced warily at Timov before inching toward the Emperor. "There is no misunderstanding. The Empress, although she is your daughter, is also, by blood, a _Refa_. What else could you expect from a house _known_ for its treachery?"

"Senna is a part of _my_ House," Londo warned Toscaneli.

"Of course, Majesty. My point is simply that you must be very cautious now about whom you trust."

"I should say so," Timov eyes burned as she stared at the Centaurum President.

Toscaneli rubbed his hands together. "The current administration," he glanced subtlety at Timov, "has their own motives in keeping Empress Senna in power. But you are the rightful emperor. No one can deny that. You knew it was a lifelong task when you took the sacred vows," he smiled coldly. "The Centaurum is keen to see you return. Do you know when you will be able to reassume your duties?"

"Soon, I expect," Londo replied.

"Well, I look forward to that day," Toscaneli said, bowing as he took his leave.

Timov glanced at Londo, and she recognized thinly veiled fury on his face as he watched Toscaneli departing.

"So this is his plan for revenge," Londo growled. "He means to rip our family apart. Not from the outside but from the inside — to set me against Senna. He will undermine everything she does, using my words against her — and he will tear a rift in our family." His right hand curled into a fist. "And he won't end it until he gets what he wants." Londo called Palco to his side. "Tell Senna we will hold a joint press conference tomorrow," he instructed the young man.

"I will make the arrangements," Palco inclined his head as Timov watched.

"Londo—" Timov began to protest.

"My decision is made," Londo said decisively. "Better to just get it over with," he frowned, staring down the hallway.

* * *

The next day at the palace, just before the press conference was about to begin, Senna turned to her father. "Papa," she glanced at his weakened condition, "we don't have to do this now."

"No," Londo told her before he slowly got to his feet. He turned and grasped Timov's shoulder for a moment and he noticed her stifle a painful gasp. With a furrowed brow, Londo watched her carefully, their eyes locking for a moment, before he turned back to Senna. "I must do this now."

In his first public appearance since he had awoken from his coma, the Emperor appeared on the steps of the palace, side-by-side with Senna.

Knowing that his endurance was limited, Londo quickly came to the point. "There have been a number of questions about the state of the Crown. We are at an important crossroads for our people – a time of healing is needed. After all that has transpired, I am no longer sure that I can be the face of unity for our country, for all of the people in our country. But Empress Senna has already selflessly and tirelessly dedicated herself to this cause, proving her worthy of the trust the Centaurum placed in her more than a year ago."

He smiled sadly to himself, before he continued, "As Emperor Emeritus, I will be retiring from public life," he said with a sigh, resigning himself to his fate. "The Empress Dowager and I will be making the Sea Palace our permanent home," he added.

Surprised by the announcement, Senna watched Londo step back unsteadily, and she walked forward to address the crowd. She knew that she could not embrace him in public, but she could barely contain her emotion at seeing him cede his power to her judgment. The love and trust he had in her was evident in his words, and Senna's heart lifted with joy.

As Senna was speaking to the crowd, Timov took Londo's arm with a smile. "I didn't know you were a _reformer_ ," she said.

"It is treasonous to slander the Emperor," Londo replied gruffly.

Timov helped Londo into a nearby chair where he could rest. "Why did you do it?" she asked softly.

Staring at his boots, he said, "I have been manipulated too many times during my life, and I am done being the pawn of others. Toscaneli was setting up a civil war, and he was out to destroy my family. I won't let my own ego lead me into being a part of his dark plans."

"The nobles will still say that you have the power to retake the throne anytime you want it," Timov warned him.

"A good reason to move as far from the Capitol as possible."

"Is that why you want to move to the Sea Palace?" Timov asked him, an eyebrow raised.

Londo shrugged nonchalantly, not meeting her gaze. "Perhaps, the Sea Palace will be more agreeable to your condition as well."

Timov's hand lingered at her chest for a moment before her hand returned to his arm. She squeezed it lightly and leaned in toward his ear, "You have been a good father," she reassured him, "both to Senna and the county."

"They say wisdom comes from experience," Londo snorted, "and I have had enough experience for two lifetimes."

* * *

Over the next several months, strength and stamina returned to Londo's unconditioned muscles under Timov's supervision and a strict physical therapy regimen. Timov remained constantly at Londo's side, and while they bickered as relentlessly as ever, it was also clear that they relied upon each other's company and counsel. And with the weight of the Crown lifted from his shouders, Londo's good nature returned in spades.

Londo and Timov returned to the Capitol and the Great House frequently, allowing them to visit Senna, Vir, and Corianna. Nevertheless, Londo found that his new cult status as the recipient of a divine miracle made public appearances outside of palace security impossible, so his newfound freedom was limited to the confines of the palaces and the Great House.

As Londo's strength returned, it became equally clear that Timov's was diminishing, and Londo found himself looking after her in much the same way she had cared for him only a few months earlier. The days she spent unable to emerge from her bed were slowly increasing, but the temperate climate of Porto helped her neural condition immensely, and neither Londo nor Timov took for granted the time that they had together.

* * *

One night, while Londo and Timov were on a brief visit to the Great House, Vir unexpectedly appeared on their doorstep in the middle of the night. The Prime Minister, disheveled and disoriented, was escorted by Palco to the door of Londo and Timov's private quarters.

Upon hearing from Palco that Vir was steps away, Londo tossed on a nearby robe and made his way through the door. At the sight of Vir's unruly hair and puffy eyes, Londo stopped suddenly.

" _Great Maker_ ," Londo said upon seeing Vir's face. "What has happened?" he asked. As Vir stood before him trembling, Londo grabbed him by the shoulder, trying to shake the younger man out of his daze. "Vir?" he asked more forcefully, but Vir did not respond. Londo stared at Vir for several moments, his own eyes becoming frantic, his chest heaving, "Vir," he repeated. "Answer me, what has happened to Senna?"


	48. Parity

**Earlier that day**

Senna clasped her hands together, "You made it!" She embraced Timov, "It has only been a month since we last saw you, but it always feels so much longer."

The two women heard Londo's voice carrying from the other room. "Hello, beautiful," he said.

"He'll never change," Timov shook her head and sighed, turning around to see what young woman Londo was accosting. To her surprise, Londo entered the royal hall with Corianna in his arms.

Senna and Timov watched, entranced by the young child's wide eyes. Corianna appeared on the verge of laughter or tears at being held by the semi-stranger that appeared at the palace periodically. Her eyes grew wider and wider, but all of a sudden, she giggled and pulled at Londo's buttons, and both Senna and Timov drew a sigh of relief.

"Senna, my love," Londo greeted the Empress as he handed Corianna off to her governess, "our little princess is growing too quickly."

Senna's face broke into a smile, and she kissed her father on the cheek, "Papa, will you and Mother be staying here at the palace?"

"No," he glanced at Timov, "at the Great House." He scanned the room, "Where is Vir?"

Senna followed Londo's glance before she looked to one of her advisors. Immediately, the advisor disappeared to fetch the Prime Minister.

"He's been swamped all day," Senna told Londo. "He might have to meet us in the Grand Hall. I've got a surprise for you there."

"A surprise?" Londo's face perked up. "What is it?" he asked.

Senna leaned toward him with a conspiratorial grin, "A master of Narn opera has graced us with his presence."

The smile disappeared from Londo's face almost instantly, replaced by a look of contempt. "Narn opera? It will make your ears melt."

Senna laughed, her eyes dancing. "Oh, I'm kidding, Papa, I couldn't help myself. In truth, we have arranged for Lord Monbalco to sing Blanchalo's opera, Ila Divenzioni."

"Well," Londo spread out his arms, "that _is_ a surprise. It is too bad he is not singing a Dorva composition, but this can be overlooked in light of Monbalco's considerable talent."

Timov folded her arms, "It doesn't matter _who_ you get to sing Centauri opera, if he isn't singing Dorva, Londo will complain."

Vir burst into the room, "Oh good, you're all still here. I thought I would miss you," he was breathing hard. "I had meetings—and—and—"

"You always said you wanted a steady job, and now you got one," Londo laughed, clapping Vir on his back.

"Little did I know what I was asking for," Vir sighed.

Londo grasped Vir's forearms in the traditional Centauri greeting, and they began chatting enthusiastically about politics and opera.

Senna and Timov watched the two men amicably chatting away as they disappeared into the distance, heading toward the Grand Hall. "Londo is breaking protocol," Timov said with a hint of disapproval and a sigh of resignation. "You _are_ the Empress now and should enter the Grand Hall first."

Senna's eyes twinkled, "It doesn't matter, and I'm not sure there is a protocol for situations like this anyway. He's an emperor, he's just, technically, a _dead_ emperor."

"As long as it doesn't bother you, dear," Timov put an arm around her daughter as they watched the men disappearing.

"Not at all." Senna clapped her hands together as she saw Londo and Vir making animated gestures in the distance, "It is so nice to see them together. Vir doesn't have anyone to talk to but me, and he really looks forward to seeing Londo. They _are_ such good friends, aren't they?"

Timov watched the men departing for the palace's Grand Hall, and she smiled watching them animatedly discussing their passion for opera. "Yes, they are."

* * *

After the concert and a late banquet dinner, Londo stood up to dismiss himself from the banquet hall, "I could do with a brivari," he announced to his companions.

"I'm afraid I have to look over some files from the ministries," Vir said sorrowfully.

"Well," Londo waved a hand dismissively, "brivari has never been your forté, Vir, and sometimes I think I have failed your training in that respect. But since you are both busy _and_ uninterested in the topic, I will need another companion."

Senna laughed and stood up, taking Londo's arm, " _I_ ' _ll_ have a drink with you," she told him, her eyes twinkling as she winked at Vir.

"Well," Londo nodded approvingly, "at last, an Empress after my hearts." He glanced at Timov bemusedly.

"Enjoy your nightcap," Timov told them, "I'm going to spend a little time with my granddaughter."

* * *

Senna and Londo retired to a private lounge behind the Empress's reception room, and as they sat down, their drinks filled by waiting attendants, Senna leaned forward, "How _are_ you, Papa?"

"Me?" Londo asked. "I am firing on all thrusters again," he sipped his brivari slowly. "I have a clean bill of heath, my memory is functioning again, I am able to move around, what more could I want?"

"That is wonderful, Papa," Senna peered at her glass. "I'm glad you are feeling better. And how are you finding retirement?"

"For the most part, it is . . . eh . . ." he smiled, "very pleasant."

Senna knew that Londo had relocated to Porto to mitigate the Centaurum members trying to use him to sway her mind on political topics, but she also knew members were still making the longer trek to Porto to see him. Still, she asked, "For the most part?"

Londo grunted circumspectly before he drew back his coat, withdrawing a note from its interior pocket. "I received this one this morning. I receive others like it every day." He tossed the note onto the table between them, and Senna reached forward, reading its contents. At first, her face lit up as she saw a child's scrawled, fumbling handwriting, but her smile quickly faded, and as she reached the end of the note, she folded it closed again gently and replaced it on the table. "Oh, Papa," she said, reaching over to squeeze his arm. "I can't imagine what it must be like."

A deep frown etched itself on Londo's face. "I am used to being asked for things I have no control over," he shook his head with a grimace. Londo motioned at Palco to refresh his drink and leave the bottle.

While Palco was busy, Londo picked the note up again, unfolding it and glancing through its contents. "But notes like this - from a child who has lost his parents asking me to return them to back to life - they are difficult to read," he shook his head again.

"They ask for the impossible because they believe I have _done_ the impossible." Londo leaned back with his drink with a sad smile. "Other than that, I enjoy the Sea Palace very much. There is always a festival in Porto, and the palace is always filled with people. The climate is always temperate, and the food is always perfect. It has been," he paused, his brow furrowing and his voice growing softer, "something I could only dream of just a year and a half ago. The freedom and, eh, the companionship."

Senna's eyes glistened in the low lighting, "The year that you were gone took something out of Mother, but when you came back to us, she came back too. I am glad you are there with her. I'm never sure if I'm getting the whole story from the staff – you know they are very loyal to you and Mother."

Londo glanced at Senna with a bemused expression, "You are spying on us?"

Senna's eyes danced, "If I wasn't spying on you, you'd tell me I _should_ be spying on you."

"Well," he returned her smile and shrugged, "perhaps so. As for Timov, even when she is not feeling well, she still runs the household from her bed. It keeps her busy, and when she is busy, she is happy. Fortunately, in the coastal climate, many of her days are better days. But her bad days," he frowned at his drink, "they are getting more frequent and more severe. On the worst days," he glanced at Senna, "she sends me away."

"She is a proud woman," Senna replied. "She does not like anyone to see her suffering, let alone you."

Londo grunted, staring at his brivari. "I haven't spoken with the doctors yet," he said, swirling his brivari. "Partially because I don't want to hear what they have to say – and partially because she wouldn't let them tell me even if I asked." His eyes glazed over and he lost himself in thought for a moment. "Timov wasn't my first love," Londo admitted, "But she will be my _last_."

Senna watched Londo closely. She knew how much companionship meant to him, and she wondered how he would fare if he lost Timov after all that they had been through. "That's rather poetic, Papa," Senna smiled. "You're almost becoming a radical, falling in love with your wife."

"There are two radicals in the royal family now, and that is quite enough," Londo shook off his sentimental gaze as he shook a finger at Senna. "Imagine if everyone in our country married for love – what would become of our noble houses and the alliances forged through blood and marriage?"

Senna laughed, shrugging off Londo's worries, "I'm sure it wouldn't be the end of civilization. You know what _would_ end civilization?" The sound of her laugh floated through the study, "If I stopped shaving my head, and all the women followed suit."

"You are already a radical who married for love, don't press your luck," he said, putting a hand to his chest. "I think you are going to give me my third heart attack."

"Oh, don't be silly, Papa, I'm just joking." She put her brivari down next to his. "But I did want to tell you that I had a dream about my father the other night," her voice fell.

"Did you?" Londo asked, his curiosity piqued. "And what, pray tell, did he say?"

Senna smiled wistfully, "He said he was proud of me. That was all, and then he disappeared into the dreaming."

"Antono is not the only one who is proud of you," Londo replied quietly, reaching over to pat her hand.

Senna took hold of it and squeezed, "I know, and I know the Republic is the most precious thing in your life, and you have given it to me to look after and care for. It means so much to have your support and your advice." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I still don't know how you won me over when you took me in after I was on the streets of the Capitol City, but I'm glad we didn't let our destiny be written in stone."

Londo nodded.

"Now," Senna continued, "I'm afraid I have to go. I have a meeting later tonight."

Londo's slightly inebriated smile dropped, "Tonight? Why so late?"

"Oh," Senna shrugged, "the President of the Centaurum wanted to meet. There are some important votes tomorrow, and he has a few things to go over with me."

"All right," Londo pushed himself out of his seat, and he turned to embrace his daughter. "Perhaps we will see you at the Great House later this week before we return to Porto?"

"Of course," Senna's face brightened at the mention of visiting the Great House and bid him goodnight.

* * *

 **The present**

"Vir!" Londo shook Vir again.

"It happened so fast," Vir said, dazed.

"What do you mean? Where is Senna?" Londo tried to focus him. He waived to Palco authoritatively, "Call the hospital—"

"Gone," Vir said simply.

In an instant, the air left the room, replaced by hollow silence.

Vir went limp in Londo's hands, and Londo guided him to a nearby chair.

"Gone?" Timov finally broke the tense silence, a shocked hand lingering at her necklace.

"What do you mean, 'gone'? We just saw her earlier tonight." Londo rasped, his hand squeezing Vir's shoulder so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

There was no answer to his question. The look on Vir's face said it all.

With one word, the world as they knew it spun out of view, leaving ashes in their hearts.

 _This could not be negotiated. This could not be fixed. This could not be real._

The suddenness and intensity of the news left only shock and horror in its wake.

After exchanging horrified glances with Londo, Timov was the first to regain herself, a businesslike demeanor masking her own grief. She pressed forward toward Vir, "Where's Corianna?" she asked softly, a note of desperation buried behind the authority of her voice.

Vir blinked a few times, "She's downstairs with Illyia."

Timov sighed with a note of relief and then gently but firmly moved Londo's clinched hand off of Vir's shoulder and sat next to Vir, "What happened?" she asked softly.

"After you left for the Great House, she had a meeting in her office—"

"—with Toscaneli," Londo growled dangerously.

"—and he left, but she stayed in her office working late, and then—" Vir choked up again. "There was an explosion. Small but . . ." Vir sobbed openly now, "deadly."

Through his tears, Vir fumbled with his jacket, retrieving a data crystal and a note from his pocket. He reached out, giving them to Londo. "The guards found this note outside her office."

Londo unfolded the note, and at reading its words, his face reddened, and he nearly crushed it before Timov retrieved it from him and read it.

 _Blood cries out for blood_.

"I'll kill him myself," Londo said in a low growl, his chest heaving and his eyes wild.

Timov handed the note back to Vir.

Vir took it, pocketing it between his sobs.

"How did a bomb get past security?" Londo's voice rose in anger and frustration.

Vir shook his head, "They don't—no one knows, but they are working on the—" He couldn't finish his sentence, and Timov wrapped her arms around him as he cried into her shoulder.

Londo stared at the data crystal. "What is this?" he asked, his voice broken.

Vir regained himself and swallowed hard, "That's why I came – and because I wanted to tell you before it was on the news. I—I," he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he continued. "Senna said that we should watch this together if anything—you know—happened."

Londo rolled the crystal between his thumb and forefinger, staring at it before he deposited it in a nearby console.

Senna's holographic image projected in front of them.

Senna smiled, her eyes twinkling. She clasped her hands together. "I suppose if you are seeing this, then the news isn't good, but then again,"" she shrugged, "as Papa likes to say, if you wait long enough, every life becomes a tragedy." She paused, her smile fading as she glanced at the floor in front of her. "Years ago, I received a prophesy from the Altar of the Sea." A smile lit up her face. "I admit that at first, I didn't understand it, but I eventually came to understand after Mother became Regent that it meant that I would become Empress." A smile spread over her face, "It has been the greatest honor to bear that responsibility, for if there is anything I have learned from my time in House Mollari, it is that duty to the country and our people must always come first."

Senna's smile faded, "But there was another part to the prophesy, a darker side. The oracle said, 'Know that the future is coming for you. Spend what will be taken wisely.' I knew, at once, that the oracle was talking about time – that I would have a limited amount of time in the future to achieve all that I had hoped, but, in the end, time would one day be taken from me. I'm afraid," she glanced up, "that day has arrived."

Senna smiled sadly, "Of course, I couldn't tell any of you this. Vir would never have accepted my plan. Mother would never have approved my assumption of the throne. Papa would never have let me keep it."

"I want you all to know," she continued, "that I, alone, knew what price I would pay, but I have always been willing to pay the price demanded because I believe what I have achieved is important and necessary for our people."

Senna paused, gathering her thoughts. "I have but one request – please, _please_ do not blame each other." Senna gazed through her audience. "And tell Corianna she bears a piece of my soul. I shall watch over her through the veil of the dreaming. I love all of you completely, desperately, eternally." Her image faded away as the recording ended.

Vir's shaking hand withdrew the crystal from the reader.

Londo walked slowly, each step parting sadness until he arrived at his wet bar. Pouring a drink, he returned to Vir. "Drink this," he said quietly. "It will help steady your nerves."

Vir gulped the dark brown liquid, his eyes growing wide as it burned his throat.

Glancing at Vir's disheveled state, Londo said, "We'll make arrangements for you to stay here tonight. In the meantime, I'll call Lord Wesa. You will need assistance tonight and tomorrow, and he will know what to do."

"That's not necessary," Vir said, pushing back his emotions and squaring his shoulders.

Londo's voice grew softer, "Everyone will understand—"

"—No," Vir stood up, turning to Londo, his jaw set. " _I'll_ do it." _I'm_ the Prime Minister – its _my_ job to inform the Centaurum, and I will carry it out."

Londo shifted his weight backward ever so slightly, and a measure of respect settled over his features. "Very well, then."

Vir turned for the door, his head bowed, "I'll leave Corianna with you until everything at the palace has settled down."

"Of course," Timov wrung her hands, "she can stay with us as long as you like."

"Thank you," Vir said softly, his eyes on the ground as he disappeared through the door.

* * *

After a long and trying night, Timov returned to bed, though sleep did not easily come to her. At last, after hours of restless turning, she finally fell asleep, and in the morning, when she awoke, she noticed that Londo had not slept in the bed.

Timov rose, the morning feeling cold and gray, her insides deadened by the news of the night before, and she dressed, detached from herself.

She walked, one foot in front of the other, murmuring acknowledgements to the staff, who had already heard the dark news.

"Where is Londo?" she asked Palco, and he led her through the Great House to one of the drawing rooms. With a hand upon the wall, Timov pushed away her own grief. There was much to be done, and time was of the essence if Senna's name was to be saved for history.

Leaving Palco outside, Timov stepped inside, her eyes falling on the physical embodiment of Londo's anguish. He had destroyed much of the room's contents in his anger and his grief, and now he was slumped in a chair by the window, his face buried in his hands.

"You need to pull yourself together," Timov said matter-of-factly. "The Centaurum is not going to waste time in choosing a new emperor, and Senna's legacy is at stake."

"Then I will do it," Londo said, his breath coming in fits. "I will return to the throne."

Timov's eyes flitted back over the destruction and settled on her husband

"Absolutely not," Timov informed him, his tone brisk. "It is even more imperative than before that you do not reassume the throne. Had you done it before, you'd merely have wiped out the changes to the laws of succession, but now you will destroy Senna's legacy and her memory. Rather than being on the cover of Centauri history books, she'd be relegated to a footnote, if that."

Londo stood up, turning to Timov with fury, "I am to remain with my hands tied, her killer upon the loose?" He took the nearest vase and smashed it against the wall.

"Don't be absurd," Timov told him as she crossed her arms, "you are no blushing _ciapsela_ , you are perfectly capable of taking action – including using your considerable unfluence with the noble houses to put the next emperor on the throne."

"Our country wasn't ready for such a change," Londo's voice dropped. "The next emperor will destroy everything she did in the name of political expediency. They will erase her accomplishments, even if her name remains as empress."

He slid back into a chair, his emotions like a pendulum, vacillating between grief and anger. "Toscaneli never returned home after he went to the palace." Londo's hand curled into a fist. "The coward is hiding. But I have set all of my contacts upon his trail. They will sniff him out, and then I will kill him, personally."

"Considering his note," Timov said, her lips thinly pursed, "and what happened with his father, have you considered that is what started this whole mess? Vir already has the Defense Ministry and the Ministry of Justice on his trail – their manhunt won't let him escape."

Londo stared at Timov, his face still a mixture of anger and sadness. He released his fist, and tears welled in his eyes. "You know, Senna told me, after the elder Toscaneli lay dead at my feet that the universe would demand parity - that for everything that is gained, something is lost, and she asked me . . ." his voice broke, "she asked what I would lose because of my pride in that matter."

Londo clenched his jaw, his feelings overwhelming him. "It was her," he whispered. "I lost her." He stared at the remnants of the room as the tears rolled down his cheeks. "If my hearts had not given out in the dungeon cell, if I had never had my second heart replaced, if I had died on the palace floor, Senna would have lived. Perhaps not as empress but _alive_." He looked at his boots, "The universe has taken her because I am here, because I am alive."

"Oh Londo," Timov crossed the room toward his chair and pulling him into an embrace. "You can't think that – Senna _told_ you not to blame anyone, including yourself. You can't live like that."

"No," Londo said darkly, his head bowed against her torso. "I can't."

Timov stared hard at him, and then she took his downcast face in her hands. "Londo," she said firmly, trying to shake him from his own dark thoughts, "Senna _needs_ you. She _needs_ you now to secure her legacy." Her voice softened, "the country needs you as well. The noble houses act in their _own_ interests, and you already know who will vie to become emperor. They will do everything they can to leverage their power in a bid for the throne. You've got to throw your weight behind the right candidate and quickly."

Londo shook his head in sadness, "I wouldn't trust anyone to preserve Senna's legacy. Not Andilo or Buesso," he wiped away the tears still in his eyes. "And who else is there?"

"There must be _someone_ ," Timov said quietly. "Someone who will preserve Senna's legacy, someone who cares for the country deeply, someone who can be entrusted with the power of the throne?"

Londo looked out the window in silence for several minutes until, all of a sudden, he snorted, and a slight smile appeared on his face.

"What's so funny?" Timov asked him, perplexed at his reaction.

"Many, many years ago, I received a prophesy myself." He looked back at Timov, a strange look in his eye. "It was from Lady Morella. She said both Vir and I would be emperor, one after the other was dead. She would not explain further, and to be honest, it was ridiculous. Vir as emperor," Londo scoffed. "He would _never_ play the games required to become emperor – would _never_ lobby on his own behalf, would _never_ entertain the idea of such a thing happening." Londo thought about the possibility. "But who else would secure Senna's legacy but her husband? Who else but her Prime Minister to finish the things that she started? Who else loves our people so purely without regard to his own position? He _is_ the only one who can be trusted with Senna's legacy and the throne itself." Londo shook his head with disbelief as he cast his thoughts back to Lady Morella's words once more. "I never really believed that part of the prophesy about Vir, but here we are."

"You will have to move fast," Timov said. "Vir will be uninterested in the throne, and no one will lobby for him but you."

Londo pulled himself to his feet with the look of a man with a job to do. "Yes," he agreed. "But if he finds out about it, he will surely pull the plug himself."

* * *

With Vir Cotto busy with the investigation and aftermath of Senna's murder and as government officers and private detectives looked for Senna's killer, Londo called upon the members of the Centaurum, receiving their condolences and discussing the major candidates likely to seek the Crown.

Londo started with the noble houses that had strong candidates and subtly implied that candidates from other noble houses were gaining overwhelming traction. Then, he would circumspectly suggest that there might be another candidate who would not punish them for having suggested a losing candidate of their own and would treat each house fairly, one Vir Cotto.

When questions arose about Vir's fitness to lead, Londo merely pointed to Vir's current résumé, that of Prime Minister. When faced with questions about whether Vir even wanted to be emperor, Londo would reply, "If asked, he will serve. That is all that matters."

Before Londo left the members of each house, he asked one favor – that his name not be mentioned. "Besides," he asked them, "would you rather the next emperor thank _you_ for your vote of confidence in him or thank _me_ for it?" To a man, every member of the Centaurum agreed that the origination of the campaign to make Vir Cotto the next emperor should remain unbeknownst to Cotto himself.

When the noble houses with candidates most likely to win began to fold under the pressure that houses long considered their mortal enemies might win the Crown, the noble houses with little chance of their own nobles becoming emperor quickly followed.

Within a handful of days, without Vir Cotto being consulted on his opinion in the matter and to his very great surprise, the Centaurum unanimously approved him as the next emperor.


End file.
